


Love the Way You Lie

by HigherMagic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Knotting, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Original Character(s), Shapeshifters - Freeform, Skinwalkers - Freeform, Top!Castiel, Werewolves, bottom!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:03:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 82,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With all of the Purgatory souls making him strong, Castiel is determined to establish the new order in this world - in his world. It's up to Sam, Dean and Bobby to stop him before he goes too far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When A Tornado Meets A Volcano

**Author's Note:**

>  Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Reaction to 6x22, and a Season 7 alternate.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had seen murder in the eyes of many of his enemies, Castiel included, and this was no different; if he was going to be killed, he was going to go down swinging, damn it.

"You will all bow down before me, and swear your love and fealty to me."

"…So, that's it, is it?" Dean asked after the longest moment, no one looking at each other but everyone watching Castiel – disbelieving, denying, angry, betrayed, shocked, and afraid. Dean, however, felt bitterness and fury most of all, welling up from a place deep inside of him that had been banished, locked away to fester and grow like some poisoned sore.

Castiel turned his head, fixing Dean with a steely blue gaze, but the Hunter was not deterred – he had seen death plenty of times, murder in the eyes of many enemies, Castiel included, and this was no different; if he was going to be killed, he was going to go down swinging, damn it.

"You get all hyped up on soul-juice and suddenly you decide that the old way was the right way?" He spat out the words, baring his teeth, still cradling his injured side which was throbbing to the time of his very fast heartbeat. He knew that Castiel – the old Cas – would heal him without a thought, without him having to ask, but this one wouldn't. "You gonna play the wrathful, Old Testament version?" Laughing, he shook his head.

"Things were better that way," Castiel replied tersely, eyes flashing. His hands flexed at his sides, seemingly of their own accord, and the Angel – God – looked down, watching his fingers flex and curl, turning his hands over in front of his chest as though there were some visible difference in him now. Perhaps there was, and Dean's eyes simply couldn't see it. "Humans, I've found, are much more amiable with an iron fist to keep them in line."

"Are you even listening to yourself?" Dean gasped, taking a step forward only to halt when Castiel's head snapped up again, and his icy gaze felt like it froze Dean's blood solid in his veins.

Castiel cocked his head to one side, insect-like and _wrong_. It reminded Dean of every creature that had ever seen the barrel of his gun or the business end of his knife or been trapped in a circle of chalk, paint or fire. It spoke of everything Dean and Sam and Bobby and _Castiel_ had fought for in the past two years, crumbling down around them.

" _Cas_ -."

"That is not my name," the Angel – God – snapped, his eyes flashing to Sam, who had spoken. The younger Winchester immediately backed away, eyes wide, hands up in defense. "You would do well to remember that."

"Let them go, Cas," Dean whispered, unable to help the nickname. Castiel's lips thinned out in anger, his fingers flexing again before the Angel – God – dug them into the pockets of his trench coat. "You're angry with me. Let Sam and Bobby go."

"Dean -."

"Get the fuck out of here, Sammy." Dean was just too tired – too tired to argue, to look Sam in the eye and tell him to get his ass out of there. It just didn't seem to be worth it – the car was totaled, where would they run? How could they hide from a God?

The receding footsteps let him know that, for once, they just listened and left him behind. He opened his eyes to find Castiel watching them go, and then the creature's eyes flashed to Dean's.

"I can find them easily. The sigils do not hide them from me anymore."

"I know." Dean sighed, rubbing his hands through his hair. "I know." Castiel's eyes felt like they were burning him, staring into his very soul but in a much more invasive and unpleasant way than the Angel had stared at him, when he'd still been an Angel. The Hunter sighed again, forcing himself to straighten. "I won't bow down to you."

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "That would be very foolish," he muttered tersely.

Dean barked out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Do you even realize how you sound?" he demanded, gesturing towards Castiel, visibly unchanged, but the power radiating off of him was something that could not be ignored – it blasted out like frozen heat, like a snowstorm made of volcanic ash. Staying in Castiel's presence gave Dean the unpleasant feeling of being coated in oil. "Damn it, Cas, listen to yourself! Everything we've fought for, everything you stood by my side for, and you're just becoming the same damned thing!"

The creature bared his teeth in a snarl, rolling his shoulders and Dean imagined he could hear giant wings unfolding, but instead of the soft sound of feathers falling that he was used to, it was metallic. It rang. "Humanity was left on its own by a benign God, and everything went wrong. You all need guidance again, and an iron rule…and then maybe you will learn. A few hard years will reap centuries' of benefits, Dean."

Dean gasped, shaking his head. "You poor bastard. All those souls are -."

"The planet is safe," Castiel declared, straightening up again. "You are safe. Your family is safe and you are without enemies now – Raphael is dead, Crowley is subdued. You will never come to harm as long as I am in power." He stepped closer, the metallic sound of razor feathers falling around him sounding out again as he approached Dean, who stood his ground despite the instinctive spike of fear and adrenaline that shot through him. He knew Castiel could wipe him from existence without a thought, and yet he hadn't – that had to mean something. "All I have done has been because of you, or for you."

Dean turned his face away when Castiel raised a hand, cupping his cheek. "Do you not believe in God, Dean?" Castiel asked softly.

"No," Dean replied, closing his eyes. He stepped away from Castiel's hold, towards the tray that still held the empty bottle of blood concoction needed for the ritual. There was also a tray with three bowls. One of them was full of blood, the second contained a heart, and the third looked like…caviar. Dean frowned, trailing his finger along the edge of the table, before he turned around. Castiel was right behind him, giving him no space. "I believed in you more when you were a drunken human than I do now, standing before me as a God, and I won't kneel for you."

Castiel's eyes narrowed. His hand twitched again and Dean noticed. "You think you have control, but you don't," he whispered, unable to break away from Castiel's freezing, powerful gaze – when he looked into Castiel's eyes, he saw anger and fury and agony and it was awful. "All those souls – you could barely handle Jimmy in there, how can you handle so many?"

The Angel – God – cocked his head to one side again, pursing his lips. "You will kneel for me," he said softly, nodding to himself. "I will make sure of it."

Dean smirked. "So much for free will."

"I don't think I care much for something that makes me your enemy," Castiel replied without hesitation, but it made Dean pause. He could think of nothing to say to that for a moment, then;

"There was always a chance to turn things around."

Castiel snarled, gripping Dean's arm tightly, his hand sliding up to seal over the handprint on his arm. Even through the barrier of clothes, the heat and electric shock was incredibly strong – Dean remembered when he had electrocuted himself and almost died from heart failure and it felt incredibly like that.

"Do not forget that, even as I was, I owned you, Dean. My patience for you will not last long."

"Just fuck me over like a good little pawn," Dean snarled back, straightening up and forcing Castiel to take a step back. "That's what you guys do – fine. Go on, jerk on the choke chain and see if I roll over. Just try it, Cas, I dare you."

The creature's eyes flashed again, but he didn't snarl, or growl, or show any signs of anger. In fact, he smiled – it was the single most terrifying thing Dean had ever seen. "Oh, Dean," he said, shaking his head, and laughed; "You are not a pawn."

"Sure feels like it," Dean snapped back, and Castiel laughed again. He raised a hand, snapping his fingers, and Dean flinched, only to find that he had remained perfectly still – Castiel had frozen his limbs solid, and the creature smirked again, stepping close to Dean, close enough that Dean could feel Castiel's breath on his lips, and he wanted to lean away because this was wrong on _so_ many levels, but he couldn't. Castiel had forced him to be still.

"Dean, Dean…" He shook his head, still laughing, his hands threading through Dean's hair as he looked over Dean's face. The gesture was so childishly affectionate that it made Dean sick. "Don't you realize? You're the Queen." He chuckled again when Dean's eyes widened in horror. His eyes were so vacant and yet so terrifyingly full of things that weren't Castiel – so many other creatures with fangs and claws and Dean could only imagine what it felt to have so much violence and power inside oneself. "You're _my_ Queen," Castiel growled, leaning in closer, his lips just brushing Dean's jaw, and how badly Dean wanted to lean away, to lash out, _anything_ , but of course he couldn't. "Together, you and I will reign and keep everyone safe – you, and your family, shall not be harmed. Not even the amnesiac whore and her bastard child shall come to harm if you so desire it." His voice darkened then, speaking of Lisa and Ben, his hands becoming just a little rough in Dean's hair before they smoothed out again and the anger was gone, fleeting as a shooting star. "Just tell me what you wish, Dean, and I'll grant it to you." He smoothed a thumb over Dean's lips and Dean found he could speak. "Tell me."

Dean swallowed, his eyes wide and horrified, locked with Castiel's, and he found himself unable to lie – he traced as far back as he could remember, when it all started going wrong, and answered honestly because he couldn't resist; "I wish I had shot my father in the face when Azazel possessed him," he said, and there was a flash of hurt in Castiel's eyes. "I wish I had killed him. Then I would have never met you."

"Shh," Castiel murmured, brushing his thumbs over Dean's cheeks, seeing the first few tears begin to fall. "It's alright if you don't want to admit it, Dean – you may hate me, but you love me, too." Dean swallowed loudly, choking on his inhale, and Castiel smiled again, leaning up and pressing a soft, chaste kiss to Dean's pliant, unresisting mouth. It felt like a Judas kiss. "Soon, beloved, you will see that all I have done, I have done for you, and you will thank me for it."

Dean swallowed again, wanting to shake his head, but Castiel still had much of his body paralyzed, and Castiel smiled, stepping away, and snapped his fingers once more. Dean collapsed limply to the ground, trying to use the cart as support but it ended up falling, the contents spilling on the floor. Castiel stood over Dean, still smiling.

"I'll see you very soon, Dean," Castiel whispered, grinning, and then the metallic fall of iron feathers sounded again and he was gone. Dean curled his knees up to his chest, resting his arms on top of them, and found himself staring at the sigil on the wall, the fake one, made of dog's blood.

His mouth twisted in disgust – he could still feel Castiel's warm, dry lips on his own. "Damn you, you son of a bitch," he snarled, wiping at his mouth. "I will never kneel for you."

There may have been the sound of more laughter, but Dean couldn't hear it over the sound of rain outside and the overwhelming noise of blood rushing in his ears.  


 


	2. Don't You Hear Sincerity In My Voice When I Talk?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  Dean couldn't take the thought of hunting down Castiel – how could they, anyway? The dude was God now. He couldn't handle it. He didn't want to deal with it right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Dean had hunted down a lot of monsters. Some of them were more difficult than others – some of them were easy; easy M.O., easy targets, easy entrapment and so on. Some were practically very easy. Others were harder, sneakier, but it was the emotionally difficult ones that were the worst. The ones that weren't necessarily _evil,_ were more morally grey. Lenore, for instance – she had never actually hurt anyone, so far as Dean could tell. She was just scary and just because something was scary didn't mean it was bad. Necessarily.

Dean couldn't take the thought of hunting down Castiel – how could they, anyway? The dude was a fucking God now. Trudging back into the Singer household, Sam and Bobby in tow, Dean just had to wave them away when they tried to talk about ways to kill God – to kill _Cas_. He couldn't handle it. He didn't want to deal with it right now.

He felt like he wanted to go to sleep forever and wake up to find the last twenty-something years of his life had just been an awful, awful nightmare.

Dropping onto one of the guest beds, he sat on one side of it, facing the door. It was stupid, but his mind turned to prayer – he had gotten used to talking to Castiel. Just…speaking aloud, since the Angel could probably read his thoughts anyway – but it felt good to just talk, even if no one was listening. Dean couldn't talk to people when they were there, staring at him, but like this, it felt like no one was really listening so it didn't matter what he said.

He sighed, pinching his nose and clenching his eyes tightly shut, before he rubbed his hands over his face. Everything was so messed up, and he couldn't even talk about it, because now, of _course_ Castiel would be listening. He was God.

The sound of razor blades clattering to the ground startled him, and he looked up to find Castiel standing there, watching him. Dean wanted to get to his feet, to yell, to hit something – possibly Cas and make the fucker feel it – but he was too tired, and he was frozen by the icy nothingness in Castiel's eyes. It felt like Dean was looking into the Pit, full of damned souls, all over again. It made him uneasy and afraid.

"Hello, Dean."

That simple greeting was too familiar – it hurt, so badly, when Castiel tilted his head just a little like that, like he was trying to understand one of Dean's jokes or bad cultural references. The vacant smile on Castiel's face chilled Dean to his very core.

"Hey," Dean replied, because he couldn't think of anything else to say. It felt like a betrayal, somewhat, talking to this new enemy version of Castiel in Bobby's house without at least _pretending_ to want to hurt, trap or kill him, but Dean couldn't muster the energy. The chill of Castiel's presence went into his very bones and Dean wondered, briefly, if his lethargy was a side effect of the new God's presence, or just his own world-weariness catching up with him.

"How many times?" Dean asked before he could stop himself, locked into a staring match with more souls than Dean had ever met in his lifetime.

Castiel cocked his head to one side, insect-like, his jaw flexing a little as though he was trying to bite his tongue, to stop himself retorting in a way that would be angry or rude. "What do you mean?" he asked, as though he didn't know, as though he couldn't simply read it from Dean's thoughts.

"How many times, Cas?" Dean asked, unable to let go of that one little moniker, of that stupid single vestige that he must cling to, in the hopes that his friend could be salvaged, because no one but the real Castiel would have held himself back from killing Dean from the get-go. "How many times did you spy on my life – come to play voyeur on my family – and do nothing?" Dean sat up a little straighter, placing his hands on either side of him, on the bed. He refused to break Castiel's gaze. "How many?"

The Angel – God – blinked, his fingers twitching, his jaw clenching again. "Six-hundred-and-eighty-two," he replied.

Dean barked out a harsh, bitter laugh, deflating, his shoulders slumping forward. "That's…" He rubbed his hands over his face again. "That's a fucking lot of times, Cas."

"I know," the Angel – God – replied, taking a step forward, but Dean didn't notice because his face was hidden behind his hands and the creature was deathly silent. "I would come to see you every day." Dean stiffened, hearing Castiel's voice coming from closer to him, and he looked up to find the creature standing directly in front of him, staring down at him with those fathomless navy eyes. "Sometimes, I think, you would know I was there – you would get this look on your face like you knew something was watching, and I would get afraid and I would flee, and then come back the same day. This happened often."

"I remember," Dean whispered. It felt like all the air was being sucked out of the room, and not in the good way.

"I would always return," Castiel said quietly, lifting his hand and gently tracing his fingertips down the side of Dean's face, mapping out the rise of his cheekbone, and the tired circles under his eyes, and finally resting in the seam of his mouth. "Even when things were at their turning point, I felt I must see you. It bought me time – Earth travels slower than Heaven. I could watch you for hours and have only minutes passed up there."

Dean snorted, but found himself unable to pull away. Castiel's fingers were very cold, colder than he remembered his friend ever being – it made him shiver. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

The Angel – God – cocked his head to the other side, frowning slightly. It was amazing how dark his eyes got in the swell of his emotions. "Perhaps," he said, pursing his lips slightly, and then it seemed that an extreme sorrow overtook him. His fingers trembled against Dean's skin. "Everything I do, I do for you, Dean," he whispered, stepping even closer and Dean found his legs spreading against his will, letting the Angel – God – stand between them. Dean swallowed. "Do you not think that, if our positions were reversed, you would find it in your heart to see my side?"

Dean swallowed again. "If you were in my shoes, Cas, you'd know how wrong this is. You'd see _my_ side and know that…what I'm seeing…is wrong." Castiel's fingers twitched again and he hastily withdrew them, as though fearing their own conscience, that it might hurt Dean. "How much control do you really have over all those souls?" Dean demanded, finally finding strength within his legs to stand. "Damn it, Cas, you're getting ripped apart in there."

"I can handle it," the creature replied tersely.

Dean's mouth twisted, and though he didn't say a word, his opinion on _that_ subject was perfectly clear.

"I could force you," Castiel said after another moment of watching Dean's face. The Hunter's eyes widened a little. "I could bend you to my will so easily, Dean, and yet I don't. I'm preserving your free will because that is what you want. I'm keeping Sam and Bobby safe because that would make you happy. I don't know what else there is for me to do."

"Why haven't you killed me yet?" Dean demanded, brow furrowing. He didn't like the road this conversation was taking – Castiel's words were obsessive, domineering, and it made Dean afraid, even more so than the creature's presence alone. They spoke of a dark, fierce possessiveness and infatuation and it wasn't what Dean could handle.

Castiel smiled, that _wrong_ , too-wide smile that flashed teeth, and shook his head very slightly. "Because I still need you," he replied, reaching up and tracing Dean's face again, this time his other side, and cupped his jaw, drawing him in a little closer. "My Queen piece; what good would it do to me to lose you so soon? You are _mine_ , Dean, and I take care of what is mine."

"Don't talk like that," Dean whispered, reaching up to try and pry Castiel's grip away from his face, but the creature was unmovable. The sound of metal wings flaring up around them rang in the small room. "Come on, Cas."

"Angels are like bees, Dean," Castiel said, stepping closer, until Dean could feel the creature's extreme chill against his flesh, through the thin fabrics of their clothes. He shuddered. "They need an objective, and a Queen – I will kill the Angels that were disloyal to me and are not willing to swear their oaths, and they will need to be replaced. That is where you come in."

Dean couldn't reply – a thousand questions leapt to the forefront of his mind and he couldn't pick out a single one to ask. Instead of the words he wanted to say – the angry, threatening speech that he had rehearsed so many damn times that it was mechanical, now – all that came out was a quick, soft exhale against Castiel's face.

"The strongest vessel," Castiel whispered, his eyes flashing yet again, words turning dark and snarling. "The purest, brightest soul. You, Dean, shall help me in founding the next world, the better world." He smiled, raising his hand and laying it across Dean's flying pulse, the other cupping the Hunter's cheek very gently. It felt like a ghost's touch. "I shall be their new Father, and you…their Mother."

Dean finally found himself able to move at the word. He wasn't quite sure what Castiel meant by that, but it didn't sound good. None of this sounded good. "Fuck, Cas," he growled, wanting to step away but Castiel's grip on his neck and face remained strong and unmoving. "You can't just…That's genocide," he gasped out, his breathing getting heavier. He felt like he was swimming against the current in the ocean, the cold, salty waves rising up around him and threatening to drag him under. Around them, the sound of metal scraping against metal broke the silence. "Your own brothers. Your family."

Castiel smiled, tilting his head to one side. "You'll see, Dean," he whispered, voice going childlike and innocent, and it made the Hunter shudder. "You'll see, when all is said and done. You'll understand."

"I will _never_ understand," the Hunter growled, baring his teeth at the creature. He fought to straighten up, to regain control and freedom from Castiel's grip, but he failed. Castiel's lips thinned out, and this time when his fingers flexed Dean could feel them, tightly in his neck, pinching a nerve. He gasped and could only grit his teeth and bear it when Castiel forced him down, so he was sitting back on the bed again.

"Your closed mindedness will not endure forever," Castiel intoned, stepping close and leaning down so that his face was level with Dean's. The Hunter's mouth twisted, and Castiel fingers dug into his flesh as Dean tried to shy away. So close, Dean could see the swirling mass of souls that inhabited Castiel's eyes – he could swear he caught a flash of teeth and claws, souls of vampires and werewolves and other ghastly things crawling around inside of Castiel. He couldn't help the feeling that, for every word he exchanged with Castiel, millions of other ears were listening in, and that just made talking all the harder. "You will be the new All-Mother, and together we shall create the new order."

"Cas -." Dean's protest was cut off as the Angel – God – leaned in, slanting his lips over Dean's in a way that made the Hunter practically incapable of fighting back. Dean stifled a mewl against Castiel's lips as the creature growled, baring his teeth around Dean's lower lip, sucking it into his mouth as his fingers fisted in Dean's hair, forcing the Hunter to lean his head back. Dean shifted forward, trying to compensate, his hands gripping Castiel's shoulders tightly, trying to push him away, but Castiel was immovable.

The flavor of something very bitter flooded his mouth when Castiel tilted his head, his tongue driving in between Dean's lips, parted in surprise, to dominate the Hunter's mouth. Dean growled, flinching away from the gross, bitter taste, and sank his teeth into Castiel's lip, down until he tasted the rusty tang of blood. The creature chuckled, petting though Dean's hair. Dean hated it when Castiel laughed – there was once a time when he would have given anything to hear Castiel laugh, but now it was far, far too wrong.

Castiel drew away, black blood coating his chin, and Dean hurriedly wiped at his mouth. His palm came back coated in something slick and dark yellow, with tiny beads that looked like –

"What the fuck is this?" he demanded, showing his hand to Castiel. The creature smiled, baring his teeth, showing flecks of blood and the other gross stuff. "What the fuck is this, Castiel?" he growled again.

He cocked his head to one side, touching his lips with his fingers, and smiled again. "You shall be the new All-Mother. Eve's eggs shall be yours, now, and you shall become fertile and full of the need to love, to bear fruit. When that happens, I shall visit you again."

Dean's eyes widened, unable to believe what he was hearing. "What the fuck -?" He shook his head. "Am I dreaming?" _Please, let this be an awful nightmare. Please, please, please…_

Castiel cocked his head to one side, grinning. "Does it matter?" he asked. He raised his hand again and snapped his fingers.

Dean surged awake with a startled gasp, clutching at his throat. Leaning to one side, he barely had time to scramble out of bed and into the bathroom down the hall to heave up the entire contents of his meals of the last three days. Still, after he was done, the bitter taste was still in his mouth, stuck down his throat like sour honey. He coughed, shuddering, leaning over the toilet bowl, and tried to catch his breath, and winced, feeling like something was stuck in his throat. He coughed again, but the thing that was in his throat remained there – in fact, it slid down further so that it had passed the point of Dean being able to get rid of it without purposefully making himself throw up.

Sweaty, panting, Dean pressed his forehead against the cold seat, closing his eyes. _Just a dream. Just a dream._

Except it wasn't. Dean had experienced enough shit like that to know what a dream was, and what he couldn't just pass off as his own fucked up mind. It couldn't be avoided. The Hunter grimaced, hearing Sam and Bobby shuffling around downstairs – no doubt his brother had heard him vomiting and was about to come up to check on him. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and his skin came back lightly tinted with blood.

It was black.

Castiel's.

He closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath, and letting it out.

"Damn it."  



	3.  I Can't Breathe But I Still Fight While I Can Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel used to be predictable. He used to be stable, constant, Dean's rock, Dean's shield and unwavering presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

"Do you swear your loyalty and love to the new God?"

Sariel growled, the Archangel's glowing blade sliding into his palm as he backed away defensively from Castiel, millions of wings flaring up around him. The Angel – God – cocked his head to one side, the fingers of his right hand twitching, as he used to when he would summon his blade from his sleeve, hidden from sight until in use. However, no blade slid into his hand. Nothing changed about him. Nothing at all.

"You are no God of mine," the Archangel snarled, righteous anger flashing in his golden-brown eyes, his feathers bristling, but the layers of soft feathers and Grace-strengthened wings covered with the metal of Angel blades seemed small and insignificant, confronted with Castiel's. The creature still had wings – two of them. Here, on the plane of Heaven, they were out, on display.

They were not made of iron, but they looked like that. They were not made of silver, but they shone like silver, with veins of different shades of grey – titanium and platinum and as-of-yet undiscovered elements, greys mixing on greys. Before Castiel had opened the door to Purgatory, his wings had been black – rich and smooth and sleek, almost blue. Now they were flat and sharp – they were not beautiful but they were awe-inspiring. They were not attractive, but they were magnetic. They had a pull to them.

The razor-tipped feathers bristled slightly at the Archangel's aggressive display, but Castiel's demeanor did not change. The creature shook his head, sighing a little, and averted his gaze to his feet, looking for all the world like the contrite, naïve little Seraph that had first been ordered to retrieve a necessary soul from Hell.

Sariel, just as Castiel knew he would, took advantage of the creature's averted gaze, and attacked, launching himself towards the creature with an inarticulate cry.

Several things happened at once. Castiel's head snapped up, Sariel's blade came down towards him, and then everything stopped. The blade had been aimed for Castiel's heart, and the creature reached up, his left hand closing with a deadly, crushing grip around Sariel's wrist. There was no expression on Castiel's face as he jerked his grip, tilting his hand so the blade fell out of Sariel's limp hand and the Archangel was forced to kneel on the ground. The Archangel growled, baring his teeth in defiance at Castiel, and the new God cocked his head.

"This could have been avoided," he whispered. He and Sariel had never been close – Sariel was an Archangel and Castiel a lowly Seraph. They had never crossed paths, but Castiel still felt a small amount of tenderness for the weak creature he had once been – a Seraph to a human to an Archangel to a God, and he felt a little amount of compassion for Sariel, as one might do to a pet.

He free hand reached up, cupping the side of who had once been his Brother's face, and he cocked his head the other way, eyes flashing, black and abyssal. His mouth twisted as though he was having an argument in his head, and was losing.

"Will you swear your loyalty and love to me, Brother?" he asked, making his voice softer, more coaxing, leading the lamb to slaughter. Sariel's fists clenched, his wings bristled, and he met Castiel's fathomless eyes. In them he saw all the souls of the damned, everything he had ever cast down or seen cast down.

He shook his head. Castiel's mouth twisted again and then his expression went curiously blank. "You are no Brother of mine," Sariel whispered, knowing he was about to die. It was inevitable. Unavoidable.

Castiel sighed, as though he regretted what he had to do, but his eyes told a different story. In them was the vicious triumph of a near-kill, of millions upon millions of creatures that were bent on reigning destruction and terror on living beings, given another chance. Castiel's fingers twitched on Sariel's face and around his wrist, crushing the bone further.

The creatures champed at the bit for the kill.

"Then you are of no use to me," he replied in a sad monotone, and his right wing curved forward, millions of tiny pieces of metal clinking together as they moved. Castiel knelt down so he was on Sariel's level, his very gaze freezing the Archangel in place as he dropped Sariel's useless hand, and held his face. His wing pressed on the Archangel's neck as he kissed Sariel – a kiss of benediction, of forgiveness for the Archangel's wrongs – and when he forced his left wing through the Archangel's heart; he swallowed the fleeing Grace, taking Sariel's power into himself to satisfy the gnawing hunger of the millions of creatures inside of him.

They howled and cheered at the taste of power, as Sariel's limp body slumped against Castiel's. Blood ran from the centre of his chest and from his neck as Castiel stood up, and there was blood on his hands. They twitched again. The creatures inside of Castiel panted for more.

He knelt down. Sariel's chest cavity had been split in two by the force of Castiel's iron-silver wings. The heart, the place where his Grace had been, welled up with blood like an offering in a sacrificial bowl. Castiel raised his head, unwilling to be caught off-guard in such a vulnerable position, before he cupped his hands together and lowered them into the slowly growing pool of blood. Inside of his head, millions of voices chanted and jeered him on, pressing against the boundaries of his vessel, guiding his hands as he raised them to his lips and sipped at the blood. The iron tang of it was like a balm, sating the foremost voices, but more took their place, all vying for their taste of blood. Unwilling and unable to deny them, Castiel sipped again at the small pool of blood in his hands, feeling some of it drip through his fingers and down his wrists, staining his skin and clothes. He was kneeling in blood, smelling it, tasting it, and he needed more. He reached down to take more into his hands, but it wasn't enough. The vampires and Djinni and all other blood-sucking souls demanded more, and he leaned down, breathing heavily, eyes black with no blue left in them and only the thinnest amount of white, and he wrenched open Sariel's chest cavity, sucking at the blood as though it were water in a drought. He drank it down, feeling it sate himself, the amount of pleasure in those souls' satisfaction felt like an orgasm, felt like he was touching Grace with God all over again, before everything went wrong.

Castiel was sobbing as he drank, tears marring the perfect swirling design of blood on his face, down his neck, on his hands and forearms.His shoulders shook, making the iron feathers rustle and clatter around him, deafening and harsh, and he moved his wings to cover himself and that of the corpse of his fallen Brother, hiding them both from sight. He wasn't sure why he was crying, for he didn't feel any overwhelming sorrow in his heart. He cried and he consumed. The werewolves demanded the heart. He took it. The ghouls yowled for flesh. He took it. He took it all.

When he was done, there was nothing left except a small patch of bloodstain. Castiel had devoured everything else.

  
  
  
  
 

Castiel appeared to Dean again that night. In the dream, Dean was at an amusement park. There were brightly-colored roller coasters and laughing children and teenagers running around, eating food the color of a cloudless sky. Music, raucous and varied, blared from a speaker system on every stand, creating one deafening cacophony of sound.

Dean was on a bench by the public toilets. Castiel appeared beside him with a rasp of swords being drawn.

"What do you want, Castiel?" Dean asked, immediately on the defensive when his former friend had appeared. Castiel looked as unruffled as ever, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. Dean looked around, taking in his surroundings. "Is this you?"

The creature nodded, his lips thinning out, as he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his thighs, fingers lacing and hanging between his knees. He was watching Dean with a closed-off expression but sad eyes. "I'm trying to make you understand."

"I don't think I could ever understand," Dean replied, looking away.

Castiel joined him – together they watched couples and groups and lone humans walking around, enjoying the sights and the fun. The setting was a cross between a theme park and carnival – there were even people dressed as giant animals wandering around and giving people hugs. Dean saw a cow hugging a three-year-old while the child's mother took a picture of them. He wasn't sure why there was a cow at the park but he just passed it off as one of those things that happened in dreams.

They sat in silence for a long while, while fake time passed, and it was almost peaceful – it could have been peaceful, except for the chill of Castiel's presence. The Angel – God – radiated cold now, rolling off him in icy waves that chilled Dean to his very core. He felt like he was sitting in the middle of the ocean, slowly drowning.

"Are you killing people?" Dean asked, not even sure he wanted to know the answer.

Castiel merely nodded. "The disloyal. Yes." Then, he straightened up slightly. "I have not harmed a single living soul," he said, looking at Dean, and for a moment there were those puppy eyes on his face, the ones where he would look at Dean like he would do anything to please the Hunter, before they were washed away and his eyes became dark and navy again.

"You will, though," Dean said after a moment, his mind carefully blank. "I know you will."

Castiel chuckled – the sound was bitter. "Don't hate me for what I haven't done, Dean," he said, and there was no regret or sadness in his voice. It was a warning – advice, for Dean to keep in line.

"I do," Dean said softly, as though coming to a revelation. "I do hate you. And yet you haven't killed me or anything else. Why?" He still didn't understand.

Castiel stood up, then, still smiling, although it was a little softer. His fingers clenched a little inside the sleeves of his trench coat, almost disappearing as he shrugged, letting it settle more comfortably on his shoulders. The sound of swords clashing together rang around them, and the music and colors of the fair began to fade.

He turned, facing Dean, and held out a hand. Dean felt the same kind of lethargy and guilelessness overtake him – looking into Castiel's eyes was like being hypnotized; he couldn't resist, and he couldn't lie. He took Castiel's hand and let the creature pull him to his feet. Castiel's hand moved to press against Dean's heart.

"What good would killing you do?" he whispered. "I need you. _I_ need you, not the souls who I must sate. The wolves want your heart, the vampires want your blood, the wendigoes want your flesh, the Gods want your soul, but they can't have it. Any of it. It's _mine_ , all _mine_ , and _they_ don't get to have it. _Ever_." Castiel growled the last word, digging his nails into Dean's chest hard enough to draw blood, and the Hunter hissed, flinching away, but couldn't actually move because Castiel wasn't letting him.

"You don't own me," Dean growled instead, trying to put heat and strength into his voice when he knew for a fact that he had none of either.

Castiel laughed – fully laughed. It was terrifying. "I think we both know that's not true…And _that_ , Dean, is why I have not killed you yet." He broke gazes with Dean, finally, and waved Dean's shirt away, pressing his fingertips against the recent bruises and crescent-shaped nail marks etched into Dean's flesh. The Hunter flinched again. Then, Castiel's hand moved down and flattened over Dean's stomach. "Soon, the first cycle will begin, and I will visit you in the flesh." His eyes flashed to Dean's horrified, wide ones. "And the new world will be ours."

  
  
  
  
 

Bobby turned eyes towards the sky as Dean finally came downstairs. They were all sitting in Bobby's main room and, true to Dean's prediction, both Bobby and Sam had books open, no doubt pouring over anything that might kill a God.

Not just any God, though.

Sam cast Dean a worried glance as his brother sat down. Dean looked pale and sick, and he wouldn't look either Bobby or Sam in the eye. The dark circles under his eyes had seemed to grow, and he hunched in on himself at the table as though defending himself from the outside world. He kept rubbing his chest as though it hurt.

"Storm's comin'," Bobby said after another crackle of thunder and lightning, the sky outside lighting up briefly.

"Not a storm," Dean replied, raising his head, just a little so that his words weren't muffled by the ring-marred, fluid-soaked, buckshot-scarred table. "Angels. Dying. Thousands of them, I bet."

"Who's killing Angels?" Sam asked, and Dean shot him a look like the answer was obvious. Sam swallowed, his brow furrowing even further, if possible. "Why?"

"'M bettin', if I was a new God who no one really liked much anyway, I'd wanna keep -." Bobby cut himself off, because Dean had made a soft sound at his words, rubbing his hands over his face. It had sounded like a sob – like a broken, wrecked noise that the last man on Earth would make while watching the only reason he had stayed alive die right in front of him. "There ain't nothin' you could'a done, Dean," Bobby said gruffly, shaking his head. "No sense wastin' time on regrets."

Dean snorted, the sound almost hysterical, and he swallowed – despite brushing his teeth four times and rinsing his mouth out with pretty much anything he could think of, the bitter taste of Castiel's kiss still lingered on his tongue. He felt too warm, too sensitive, too _everything_. His stomach and throat hurt from vomiting and his head ached from getting no restful sleep, and his chest hurt from the handprint that had materialized there in his second dream.

He wondered, if he made a Freddy Krueger reference to Castiel, if the bastard would finally get it.

"There were _so_ many things I could've done, Bobby," he said, bitter and hateful, finally raising his head to look his friend and mentor in the eye. "And I didn't. And now he's killing Angels, and who knows what else."

"Well," Bobby said, exasperation getting the better of him, "are ya gonna keep whinin' or are ya gonna do somethin' about it?" His voice was all bravado, but Dean saw how thin it was – he'd done the same damned thing and the fact that Bobby was trying to lobby his own tricks back at him just filled Dean with an irrational anger and sadness.

"What can we do?" Sam asked when the silence stretched too long. "You can't kill God."

"Never met nothin' I couldn't kill somehow."

Dean had had enough. He shoved himself back from the table and stood up. "Listen," he said, going over to Bobby's kitchen cabinets and grabbing a bottle of painkillers – his head seriously hurt like nothing else – and downed two, dry, before he turned around to look at the other two. "Cas has become like Superman, Hulk and Super Shredder all at once. He's _God_ , guys, with a complex worse than Hitler, but he didn't kill us. That has to mean something."

He paused, taking a deep breath. He hadn't had much time to think about what Castiel had been saying to him, but the words echoed around and around in his head, over and over, deafening like a swarm of locusts. "He won't hurt us."

"How can you know that, Dean?" Sam asked, frowning.

"I just do," the older Winchester snapped, but he wouldn't look at his brother. He was afraid – afraid that Sam would just _know_ , if their eyes met. The brothers had once had a bond stronger and closer than anything else and Dean was sure that, at the worst possible time, that sort of connection would resurface and all his secrets would be cast into the light. "He doesn't care about-, about us." He paused. "That means we'll have the edge, I guess. He'll be busy starting his 'new order'. It'll be even worse than when he was in the civil war."

"You think he'll just turn a blind eye to us, even after we've made it perfectly clear we're not gonna bend over for him?" Dean swallowed at Bobby's wording, but said nothing. "He played Peepin' Tom even when we _didn't_ suspect him. He could be here right now."

Dean swallowed again, and once again, said nothing. He didn't say that, if Castiel were here, he'd fucking know. He would just _know_. Just like he knew that those thunder strikes weren't thunder strikes. They were dying Angels, and he wondered how many would die, how many he would 'replace'. He didn't understand quite what Castiel's plan was but it didn't sound good. At all.

Castiel used to be predictable. He used to be stable, constant, Dean's rock, Dean's shield and unwavering presence.

"He won't be here. We're nothing to him now," he whispered, wishing that it were true. He wondered when this 'cycle' would begin, what that meant, and what would happen when it started happening. Would Dean just start replicating like microbes or something? Would Castiel…do something to him, like sex pollen or some other shit like that?

"If it's all the same to you, I'm gonna keep lookin' up ways to gank the feathery bastard."

 _He's not got feathers anymore,_ Dean couldn't help but think, semi-hysterically. _They're metal. Like swords._  



	4.  Sound Like Broken Records Playin' Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   Dean needed a drink. Or a thousand drinks. Hell, he wanted to go into an ocean of all kinds of rot-gut booze and just drown in it. Screw 'plans' – he was going to die by liver disease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

  
It wasn't like sex pollen, or a curse of some sort. Dean had been hit with three sex curses over his time of being a Hunter (well, four, but one of them hadn't taken because he hadn't been a virgin) and, although he wouldn't say he was an expert, it was a high enough number to give him a general idea of what it was meant to feel like.

He woke up feeling normal. Well, as normal as he could feel while his ex-best friend and Angel on his shoulder was off doing He knows what, He knows where, undoubtedly killing thousands of 'disloyal' Angels. The storm over Bobby Singer's house had yet to let up – Castiel was still killing. Dean choked on a laugh, a bitter, hateful laugh – thinking of those infomercials; 'Every three seconds, blah blah dies from something'.

"Every three seconds," he whispered, mimicking the sad middle-aged woman's voice when talking about cancer or self-harm or dying children, "an Angel dies 'cause they refuse to bend over to some half-insane legion villain from that fucking weird movie…"

He thought for a moment.

"'Ghost Rider'."

Again, he wondered briefly if Castiel would get that reference. Sighing, Dean scrubbed his hands over his face – he needed a drink. Or a thousand drinks. Hell, he wanted to go into an ocean of all kinds of rot-gut booze and just drown in it. Fuck Cas and his 'plans', Dean was going to die by liver disease. That decided it.

When he came downstairs, Bobby was there, sat in front of the booze cabinet. He fixed Dean with a wary eye, like he was guarding it, and Dean's lips thinned into a line, realizing that Sam and Bobby had probably already started some sort of 'Intervention' without him even knowing there was something to intervene in. He sighed again, tilting his head, and Bobby just fixed him with a look. Bobby wasn't going to let him turn into a sorry ass drunk.

Hypocrite.

"What've we got?" Dean asked instead, sitting down at Bobby's table. The older Hunter walked over and sat next to him, relaxed and sure that Dean wasn't going to make a break for the booze when he wasn't watching. "Where's Sam?"

"Nothin', and out," Bobby replied flatly.

Dean frowned. "Out?" he asked, looking up. "Out where? Doing what? On his own?" Bobby's expression didn't change as Dean sat up, anger and fear building up. "Damn it, Bobby – we're Enemy One down here; now is not the time to be splitting up and going off on our own."

"I never said he was on his own, idjit," Bobby snapped, brows furrowing. "Eesh, boy, what's gotten into ya?"

"I just…" Dean bit his lip, looking down. The moment of truth; tell Bobby and Sam (when he got back) what was going on, or just leave them out of it and deal with it on his own? He knew what the right answer was – what he _should_ do – but honestly, he didn't actually know what Castiel _wanted_ of him yet. He couldn't think right – it was like the answer was lurking, in his mind, just out of reach, and he knew if he reached out and tried to grab it, it would attack him like some wild animal…but if he didn't it would just grow and get braver and eventually charge out into the light and Dean wouldn't be able to handle it.

He sighed, closing his eyes, and scrubbed his face with his palms. He felt so tired, so unbelievably tired. "I just don't think the world is very safe right now, Bobby," he whispered, shaking his head, and it was true – knowing that Sam was 'Out', somewhere, anywhere, despite Castiel's assurances that they were safe, despite knowing that pretty much anything and everything out there, Sam could handle, he couldn't shake off the feeling that Sam should be _here_ , where Dean could keep an eye on him, keep him safe.

"The world's never been safe, Dean," Bobby said in that gruff, reassuring way of his that only served to irritate Dean – this was stupid. This was so fucking stupid; they shouldn't have to be holed up in here with that storm raging outside, cowering like mice just waiting for the flood to come and wash them away. Damn it.

"So where is he?" he asked.

"He went out to get some supplies," Bobby replied with a shrug. "He left a little over an hour ago. Figured since we're essentially stuck here we may as -."

"'Stuck here'?" Dean repeated, snorting in derision. He shook his head. "We're not. I bet we could go out and do whatever the Hell we wanted."

"You think Castiel doesn't care?" Bobby asked incredulously.

Dean opened his mouth to reply, and then swallowed and averted his eyes. He knew it was a dead giveaway, knew Bobby could read him well enough to know when he was hiding something, but a little part of Dean wanted this dirty, awful secret to be dragged out into the light so that he could be forced to face it – he didn't want to let it fester and grow but he knew it would let it if left to his own devices. At least the animal wouldn't be so harmful if there were three people out there to subdue it.

Christ, but he needed a drink.

He stood up, almost daring Bobby to move in front of the liquor cabinet, and went over to pour himself a glass of bourbon. He emptied it in one swallow, coughed, and filled it again. The alcohol was warm and numbing – it was perfect. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and set the bottle back on the shelf, closing the cabinet door behind it.

"So," he asked without much hope while Bobby continued to fix him with a wary, half-knowing eye, "we got any leads, at all?" He sat down, setting the glass down in front of him. Despite the fact that the liquor wasn't cold, the room was warm enough (unseasonably warm, from the storm) that the glass had condensation on it, and Dean absently shoved it around, creating a nice little slick puddle of water for it to glide along in.

"There ain't much on de-nukin' an Angel," Bobby replied, pulling a chair up. Dean snorted with empty humor. "But…I might have an idea."

Dean's shoulders tensed, and the room got very cold. Bobby didn't notice.

"I think -."

"Shh," Dean interrupted, holding out his hand. Bobby fell silent, watching him for a moment, while Dean sat up straighter and looked around. There was nothing there, nothing aside from old, peeling wallpaper and thousands of musty books and enough alcohol to keep the state of Texas happy, but still…there were silver shadows in the dark lines of the books. There was the shape of a wing in the far corner.

Dean could feel eyes on him – cold, blue, more than just Castiel. Millions and millions of eyes watching him, snarling and biting behind icy blue irises and an aura that felt like Dean was swimming in ice water. He couldn't breathe – he felt like he was drowning, like something horribly definite was pressing down on him from all sides.

He downed the rest of the booze, shoving himself to his feet with enough force that the chair skidded backwards, and turned around, feeling like he needed to run, to flee, _somewhere_.

"Dean?" Bobby's worried voice sounded far away, distant like Dean was hearing him shout from the other end of a tunnel. He shook his head, unable to talk – his throat was dry. He was freezing cold.

He almost collided with Castiel when he turned around again.

Dean froze, locked with those blue eyes, so full of fury, of power and compassion – always terrible, awful tenderness for Dean, for Dean alone. Dean's eyes flashed to Bobby, who was still watching him, but had given no indication of seeing Castiel appear.

"Am I going crazy?" he whispered, looking back towards Castiel.

The creature's mouth tilted up in a smile, and he cocked his head to one side. "Does it matter?" he asked in a voice that had layers and echoes, at the same time Bobby said; 'Maybe. You're actin' it'.

Dean shook his head, blinking once, and the Castiel mirage disappeared. So did the chill, and Dean shivered, sitting down at the table. He'd gone very pale and he looked even sicklier than before. His hands were shaking.

"Tell me," Dean said, looking at Bobby, "before he comes back."

Bobby straightened, realizing what Dean meant, and his gaze darted around the room as though he, too, were looking for the illusion of Castiel. "He still here?" Dean found it a little amusing and heartwarming that Bobby would trust him enough to immediately believe him – well, Castiel was God now. If he wanted to just appear to Dean, he probably could.

Did it matter?

Dean shook his head. "No. Quickly, tell me, now," he whispered, leaning in close.

"Well, the way I figure, Purgatory's shut now," Bobby said, leaning in conspiratorially. Dean couldn't fight the ants-up-his-spine feeling, feeling like something was watching; a prickling in the back of his head. He felt overly hot after the chill of Castiel's presence, like he was getting ill, and dizzy, and he shook his head, forcing himself to focus. "That means Cas has a limited supply of juice, right? So I figure, we find a way to drain it somehow, or make him drain it himself, he'll go back to being as normal as he can be."

Dean frowned. "How?" he asked.

Bobby shrugged. "Everything Castiel will do will take power. How he might use it, I don't know, but I bet if we get him drained enough we'll be able to…subdue him, somehow."

Dean swallowed, averting his gaze. He didn't want to think about how they would 'subdue' Castiel – despite everything, he wanted to avoid killing him, if at all possible. It was impossible to explain – Dean felt like…like he _owed_ Castiel more than that. All the times he could have been a better friend, a better confidante and brother to Castiel and he'd failed and now it was his job to pull him back from the brink. Just like he had with Sam.

It was just another job.

He took a deep breath, swallowing, and forced himself to think that. "Okay," he said, running his hands through his hair, and he looked outside right in time for Sam to step through the door. "Where the Hell have you been?" he snapped.

Sam paused, frowning, and held up several duffle bags. "Supplies," he said helpfully, frowning in confusion over at Bobby, who gave him a look that said 'I'll explain later, just humor him for now'. "I'm sorry." He sat down at the table.

Dean swallowed again. He felt so incredibly dizzy, and he knew it wasn't from alcohol because he hadn't really drunk that much, unless Bobby had done that mixing thing again. He closed his eyes, pressing his head against the cool condensation patch on the table. "Good," Dean said tiredly. "Just…stay here, alright Sammy? Please."

"Okay, Dean," Sam replied quietly, his concerned look growing. Bobby just shook his head and shrugged, walking away to sort through the duffle bags that were full of supplies. "I'll stay."

He just…felt better when they were in the house. That was it – it was some instinct, and as a Hunter he was trained to trust instincts because feelings like this actually kind of became laws when dealing with the Supernatural – when something gave you the heebies it probably did that for a reason, because it was _wrong_.

And it should be like that now. Sam and Bobby should stay inside. Dean knew that, so he enforced it – he couldn't protect them out there. Anything, from a car to a lightning bolt that wasn't really lightning, could kill them, or a vampire or ghost or any other millions of things and Dean would be on his own with nothing to protect or love anymore and he would have nothing better to do than to go along with Castiel's plans.

It made sense to him.

His head was spinning, and he was hungry, and there was a low pain building in his abdomen. He'd heard of people actually making themselves sick from intense stress and though it would be the stupidest reason _ever_ to be sick, he hoped that it was just that. Castiel's and Bobby's words whizzed around his mind – he knew they fit together somehow, they made sense somehow to him but he couldn't figure it out and the combination of his hallucination of Castiel and the booze and his sickness was threatening to knock him out for the count, and that wouldn't do because then how could he protect Sam and Bobby and everything else, inside or not?

No. He just needed to calm down and think. That was all.

The door handle to his room was icy cold to the touch. Dean flinched away from it at first, knowing what lurked in the confines of his room. He wondered if Bobby and Sam could feel it, if they knew or if Castiel was disguising his presence from them. 

Did it matter?

Castiel was sitting on his bed, and looked up when he entered. He smiled and rose gracefully, fluidly, silently to his feet. "Hello, Dean," he whispered, as though afraid of disturbing the others downstairs.

Dean swallowed, clearing his throat. He didn't want to meet Castiel's eyes but he was afraid of looking anywhere else. "Hey, Cas," he replied, equally softly. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you that I would visit you in the flesh when the first cycle started," Castiel replied, averting his gaze and breaking Dean from the cold spell of it, letting the Hunter's shoulders sag a little, and Dean felt like he could move his legs. "Soon, your body will call out for me, and I will not deny you, just as I have not denied you anything else."

"What exactly is happening?" Dean asked, sure that he should be angry, should rant, and rave, and punch a wall or something else that he did when he was angry, but he couldn't muster up the energy. Was that Castiel's influence, keeping him soft, pliant, and lethargic, or just his own inability to hurt Castiel now? "What's going to happen to me? What's this 'cycle' you're talking about?" he demanded.

Castiel chuckled, shaking his head slightly. His eyes were bright and glowed in the storm-dark room. The sound of swords being unsheathed rasped in the room as he stepped closer to Dean, raising a hand and lightly touching his cheek. Dean shivered at the cold. "I'll admit, it was difficult," Castiel began, staring up into Dean's dark, beautiful eyes, so full of conflicting emotions, his soul still so bright and full of love even after everything. He was beautiful to Castiel, and the millions of creatures that were now with him. "But I think it will work out for the best. Sit down," he whispered, moving his hand to push down at Dean's shoulder. The man could do nothing but obey, staring up at Castiel, stoic and silent. "You, Dean, are a vessel. Not only a vessel, but the strongest vessel for the strongest Archangel ever to exist in Heaven. And not only are you these things, but you are a virgin vessel."

"I'm no virgin," Dean replied, unable to help the small smirk that came to his face.

Castiel's expression did not change – that almost vacant smile remained. "No, you're not," he replied lightly, chuckling and shaking his head. "But you are in the sense that Michael never claimed you – you are open to receiving Grace and you have never received it. Your soul is virginal, remade by my hand, and you are pure and bright enough to sustain life within you…after a little coaxing on my part."

Dean frowned, a slow, dreadful conclusion forming in his mind. "What are you -?"

"The new All-Mother," Castiel whispered, leaning down, cupping Dean's face as he pressed their foreheads together, his smile widening. "You shall be the mother of the new races – I have killed many of the Alphas but their souls, the souls of all their children, shall be recreated into new, strong, loyal creatures – creatures that will never do harm if you don't desire it, or I do not. Vampires, and werewolves – ghosts and skinwalkers and all things that are naturally born, shall be borne through you, and I, and we shall replace those that had to die to create this new, perfect world."

Dean's eyes widened, and he shook his head. "Cas -."

"Perfection, Dean," Castiel whispered, his eyes glowing brilliantly blue, ethereal and terrifying, his grin widening to expose teeth. His hands moved to fist in Dean's hair so the man could not pull away. "My Queen, my beautiful mate, and the next Mother – you, Dean, and I, shall create Paradise, and no one human has to die."

He paused suddenly, straightening. "Paradise – more of the same, only better." He cocked his head to one side. "Once upon a time that was what you wanted."

Dean couldn't speak – couldn't do anything except stare up at Castiel, disbelieving and terrified.

"You are afraid," Castiel whispered, leaning down again and petting through Dean's hair, this time more gently, his smile growing softer, his voice softening to an affectionate, compassionate murmur. "There is no reason to be afraid of me, Dean…so long as you obey."

Dean swallowed. "And if I don't?" he dared to ask.

Castiel merely smiled, and shrugged. "It won't matter," he said, nodding to himself. "I can find ways to make you more cooperative. Or, if not, I shall find another – as Michael said, you are the True one, but not the Only one."

Dean's eyes widened again and he shook his head frantically – as much as he didn't want this for himself, he would never force it on some innocent human being either. That went against everything he ever was. "And if I don't 'call out' for you?" he asked, forcing his voice to remain strong.

Castiel smiled, and Dean felt his cold, gentle touch in his hair again. "You will," he replied with all the certainty of God, and then straightened once more. "I will come when you call." And then, with a crash of razor blades, he was gone, and Dean was left on his own in the room. The heat of the storm outside and the sounds of thunder and lightning were stifling and deafening, and Dean felt like he couldn't breathe again.

He had to figure out a way to fix this, and quickly.

Neither he nor Cas had long now.  



	5. Next Time You'll Show Restraint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  He was on a plane of Heaven, waiting for the call. He knew it would come – of course it would come. Even when Dean hated him in the beginning, he would call for the Angel and that wouldn't change just because Castiel had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. 

"I know, I know!"

Castiel bent forward, fisting his hands at his hair, and closed his eyes. He was on a plane of Heaven, waiting for the call. He knew it would come – of course it would come. Even when Dean hated him in the beginning, he would call for the Angel and that wouldn't change just because Castiel had.

He grit his teeth, clenching his eyes tightly shut against the pressure – a dull throbbing he could feel throughout his entire body, much like he had felt, waking up human in a hospital room. It was a dull, piercing, all-over ache that he would not abate.

If he could just give them more room…

"I know what you want," he snarled, wanting to placate the creatures inside of him. They growled and hissed back at him, pressing at the far corners of his vessel, making Castiel tremble. He needed to sate them, and soon. "Soon there will be more room," he whispered, clenching his eyes tightly shut. His irises swirled with flashes of white and black behind his closed lids. "Soon you will have more room, I promise, just wait."

He gentled the death grip he had taken in his hair, smoothing his hands through it, calming himself down with deep breath that smelled of crisp spring grass and leather and gun oil, and his eyes fluttered open.

He wished Dean would just acknowledge that his plan was one that could not be stopped, and accept him – if only he could _understand_ , understand what it felt like to be so _full_. It was glorious and satisfying at the same time as being overwhelming and painful. He needed his relief and Dean could give it to him, if only he would _call_.

The creatures were getting so impatient. _Make him bleed_ , they growled, and begged, and hissed at him. _Give him to us._

"No," Castiel replied, sounding broken. He couldn't. He shook his head. "No."

_Make him bleed._

"No! He's mine!"

"Castiel?"

The creature raised his head, looking up and finding his second in command standing in front of him, wringing his hands nervously as he stared at the new God. Castiel's lips thinned out, watching – he did not like the Angel. That was good though, because it meant he would not trust him, and would not fall into a trap by him like he may have with Balthazar or any other close friend of him.

"Yes, what is it?" he snapped, the millions of souls rising inside of him in response to his anger, and he stood up, smoothing down his trench coat and shirt absently.

"You told me to come to you when the new All-Mother was calling for you," the Angel said, looking down, at Castiel's shoes, left, right, anywhere but the God's eyes, from those multitudes of souls that, at all times, were inches away from tumbling out behind the reservoir and consuming everything in their path.

A soft, feral grin spread out over Castiel's face. _Finally_ , he whispered to the souls, and they rose up, forcing him forward before he could think. His wings crashed out from his vessel and he was gone within a fraction of a second.

 

 

Dean was hunched over on himself, still on the bed in his room. Though only a few hours had passed in Heaven, almost three days had come and gone on Earth. Dean's will was very strong, his ability to resist Castiel admirable under any other circumstances.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel rasped, forcing himself to keep calm as he stalked towards Dean. His razor-feathers bristled and rose in response to his anticipation.

The Hunter's wide, frightened eyes met his, and Dean scrambled back, away from Castiel, putting his back to the headboard while Castiel sat down on the edge of the bed. "How would it work?" Dean asked, swallowing, forcing himself to remain brave – a slow, small conclusion, an idea, was forming in his mind but he needed to make sure it would work, because if it didn't…well…

It would work.

Castiel cocked his head to one side. "You called me to ask more questions?" he asked, and Dean nodded, pressing his lips together. The creatures inside of Castiel snarled in defiance and fury, and Castiel closed his eyes, looking away so that Dean would not see how his eyes flashed black and white, how a new set of teeth half-descended from his gums only to be forced away. He dug his nails into the bedspread, ripping it apart slowly, piece by piece. "What would you like to know?" he asked, forcing his voice to remain calm.

"I mean…" Dean swallowed back the nausea rising in his throat, even thinking about this kind of thing, and he shivered as Castiel's cold presence started to seep out into the rest of the room. "How will it work? Will you, like…change me?"

Castiel smiled, tilting his head back towards Dean. "No," he whispered. "I will keep everything as close to your natural body as possible. I imagine I will give you a birth canal within the last week or so, to ease the birth. I wouldn't want you to be hurt in any way."

Dean snorted. "Well, small mercies, I guess," he muttered, fidgeting, and Castiel's eyes flashed again at the sarcasm but he smoothed his expression out again by the time Dean looked up at him once more. "And…how will you make it…like…the…" He choked, unable to get the words out.

Castiel stood, pressing a hand to his heart and standing by Dean, at his bedside. "Inside of me," he whispered, "is every Alpha. I have killed them all and the souls of their children are inside of me, now." He leaned down, kneeling on the bed, and Dean scooted away, averting his gaze, biting his lower lip. "When you and I have lain together, through my Grace, and my power, I will allow some of the souls to manifest in our child. The child will be the next Alpha of their race, whatever race manages to get there first."

Dean froze, looking up with wide eyes. "So…for the sake of argument," he began, with a shaky, nervous kind of laugh, "you knocked me up with a shapeshifter or something…"

"Then all the souls of the shifters within me would manifest in that one, powerful child, who would grow under our careful tutelage, and we would have the next, loyal race of shifters." Castiel smiled as he finished, kneeling close to Dean and gently placing a hand on his cheek. His fingers twitched against the warm skin. His blood sang with anticipation, souls pressing up against the barriers of his skin. "Please, Dean, lay with me," he whispered. "Feel as full as I do."

Something flashed across Dean's face. It was quick, fleeting, as lightning-short as a falling star, but Castiel saw it. Hope swelled in him, thinking that, for the briefest of moment, Dean might actually understand.

Then, the Hunter doubled over, hissing in pain and pressing down on his abdomen. "The time is near," Castiel whispered, standing up again. Dean rolled over, facing Castiel, gasping at the sharp spikes of pain. "Your body is empty and raw, waiting to be filled." He moved back to the bed, pressing Dean onto his back on the bed. He pinned Dean down by lacing their fingers together and pressing them to either side of the Hunter's head. "Let me soothe the fires of your need, Dean," he insisted, practically growling the order.

Dean shook his head. "No," he gasped out, despite how his body burned in response to Castiel's chill. He felt feverish, sweaty, needing the cold touch of the creature above him. His body shook, feeling empty, so unbelievably in _need_ , but he wouldn't bend. He wouldn't break. Not yet. He still needed to think.

"No, Cas! Get off me!" he shouted.

"Dean?"

The shout of his name was followed by the loud crack of a shotgun. Castiel stilled over Dean, then turned around, snarling, seeing Sam and Bobby in the doorway, wide-eyed and disbelieving, the smoking barrel of a shotgun aimed at Castiel's back. Castiel snarled more loudly, flashing more than one set of teeth, and then turned back to Dean.

"I shall return," he hissed, almost too softly to hear, and Dean bit his lip, swallowing in fear, before there was the sound of iron girders falling to a cement floor and Castiel had disappeared.

 

 

Castiel was furious – he had been so close, only for his Queen to resist him again at the last moment. Dean's body was so open to receiving Grace; Castiel had not counted on Dean's stubbornness making him old out for so long.

_Blood._

_Flesh._

_Make him bleed._

_Make him scream._

"No!" he snarled, pressing at his temples. He needed release…he needed to sate them somehow – he needed their power and they needed flesh. He could give them that. "Raguel!" he yelled, summoning his second in command.

The Seraph appeared immediately, wringing his hands nervously, eyes dark and afraid. "Yes, Father?" he whispered reverently.

It made Castiel angry, even angrier than he had been. He was not the _Father_ , no, he was better than that. Better, but foiled by his own feelings for some dirty human…damn it. Dean…Dean…He just wanted _Dean_. To create happiness for his Hunter.

Would it be too much to ask for Dean to let himself be happy?

Without a thought, Castiel snapped his fingers and Raguel's chest was ripped apart. He choked, Grace flaring in his eyes before he fell to the ground. The souls inside of Castiel howled and cheered, champing at their restraints for the kill and they threw Castiel at the corpse. Again, the small, insignificant part of Castiel that was still himself, curled up in a tiny ball of Grace, conjured tears to Castiel's eyes as he knelt and drank and consumed Raguel's vessel's body. The flesh was so sweet, the blood like mulled wine, intoxicating and warm and spicy. The bones snapped with ease, the Grace was swallowed, giving strength to the insignificant part of himself that was still _him_ , the part that flared at the thought of hurting Dean, at the thought of killing Dean or Sam or Bobby. It was the part that protected them while the rest destroyed.

Castiel allowed himself to cry, his shoulders shaking with sobs, his great wings falling around himself in giant heaps of silver-iron, sharp, pressing the muscles in his wings the wrong way because the feathers refused to bend.

When he was finished, wiping his mouth of blood and sucking his fingers clean, he took a deep breath, braced on all fours over the small patch of blood that signified Raguel's death place. He stood, calmer now, but still angry, and frustrated with Dean's mulish desire to immediately go against Castiel in all ways.

The pain wasn't enough incentive, it seemed, nor was the feeling – Dean was used to being in pain, to being empty. Castiel would have to turn up the heat to get a rise out of the Hunter. He contemplated, thinking back on all the things that had ultimately broken Dean over the years he had known the man.

The answer struck him, and he smiled, eyes flashing black and white and blue again.

 _Loss_.

 

 

"Alright." Bobby set a glass of whiskey in front of him and the brothers Winchester, and took a seat around his table. "Talk."

Dean was hunched in on himself, his shoulders tense, as he pushed around the glass on the puddle of condensation while Sam watched on with concern, Bobby with apprehension and wariness. "There's not much to talk about," he muttered, knowing he was a lousy liar like this – they had _seen_. What was the point in denying?

"Dean, what's been going on?"

"Has Cas been visiting you?"

"Look!" Dean slammed his fist on the table, straightening up a little, only to curl back in on himself when the action caused his gut to tug painfully, like his muscles were being stretched too thin. It felt like his entire gut was cramping and he tried to breathe through it. "Everything's under control. I have a plan."

"Looked like one helluva plan," Bobby stated dryly.

Dean took a deep breath, running his damp fingers through his hair. He felt sick, feverish, and his entire body _ached_. "Look," he whispered, speaking more softly. "I have an idea. I think…I think there's a way to get Cas dejuiced."

Sam sat forward. "What do you mean?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"I mean…" Dean sighed. "Okay, look, I'll just come out and say it." He hesitated, pressing his palm on the table, not looking at Sam or Bobby. "Cas wants…basically, he wants to create the new races or something and…well…he wants me to sort of… _birth_ it." He blanched on the word.

Sam's nose wrinkled. "So…like…?"

"Yeah," Dean answered. "He wants to knock me up with supernatural monster babies." It was almost funny, except it wasn't. At all. "But he told me…basically, for every kid I have, a race of souls will leave him."

Bobby paused, and then raised an eyebrow. "You're thinking about going through with this," he said.

"What?" Sam fixed wide eyes on Dean. "No!"

"I have to, Sammy," Dean whispered, shaking his head. "If all the races of souls leave Cas, then he'll be back to normal. I've almost died for the guy – I can do this for him too."

"You're talking about _giving birth_ , Dean, _to monsters._ "

Dean took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "It'll save Cas," he replied.

"And what if you do, then, hmm? We're just gonna have a bunch of new monsters runnin' around? And that'll take _years_ , Dean, unless you've forgotten your basic biology, not to mention the whole gender issue."

"Cas has taken care of that…. Look, my ass is a small price to pay for the sake of the planet," Dean snapped back, standing, bracing himself on the table. "If I keep him happy, keep doing what he wants, he won't hurt us, he won't hurt _anybody._ For…For fuck's sake, guys, he's _killing Angels._ He killed the _Alphas_ of the monster races. How long until he turns to innocent people? No…" Dean shook his head, straightening and wincing at the pain in his abdomen. "Besides, I…" He paused, looking down, fidgeting.

"What, Dean?" Sam asked softly.

"I…don't really intend to carry the kids to term, if you know what I mean," Dean said with meaning, and Sam's eyes widened.

"You're -."

"I have to, Sam. They won't be human."

Dean bit his lip again, forcing himself to meet and hold his brother's eyes, but he couldn't – he was drained, in pain, utterly hopeless, and within a few minutes he had to look away, back to the glass-ring-marred table. "Unless you have any better ideas, I'm going to go…call Cas."

"Dean -."

"What, Sam?" Dean snapped, turning back around to face his brother.

Sam swallowed, eyes widening. "You're bleeding."

 

 

"It didn't have to happen like this."

Dean started awake in a hospital bed. His mind was fuzzy and drowsy, but he would recognize that voice anywhere. He frowned, lolling his head until he found Castiel, sitting by his bedside. "Where am I?" he asked, rubbing his forehead. He felt like he had been hit with a two-by-four.

"In a hospital," Castiel replied. "The bleeding has been narrowed down to internal bleeding or some form of kidney failure." He cocked his head to one side, smiling. "But we know the truth, don't we?"

"What…what do you mean?" Dean asked, his voice shaking.

Castiel shrugged. "What happens to eggs when they are not fertilized?" he quipped, turning his head to look out of the corridor. Sam and Bobby were outside on some uncomfortable-looking chairs. "They can't see me," he said before Dean could ask, "and to them, you are still sedated."

"Am I dreaming?"

Castiel paused, pursing his lips. "In a way."

Dean collapsed back against his bed, heaving a sigh. "I was going to call you back, you know," he said, getting the weird feeling that he was some kind of romcom or feel-good movie with that line. "Right before I…passed out? Or something."

"It was too late then," Castiel said. "We shall have to wait for the cycle to begin again, but I am glad to know that you have finally come around to my way of thinking." He fixed his cold blue eyes on Dean again. "Now you shall have to bleed, and we wait for the cycle to begin again."

Dean's eyes widened. "You mean -?"

"For all intents and purposes, yes," Castiel said with a shrug. "You have the ability to conceive such as a woman would, so you have a menstrual cycle."

"Son of a bitch," Dean whispered.

"But I have escalated yours…" Castiel cocked his head to one side again, still looking out of the room towards Sam and Bobby. "You will bleed for three days, and then you will have two where you will be able to call me. I am far too impatient to wait for this naturally." He looked back to Dean again, standing and leaning over the man in his bed. "Maybe next time you'll learn to just trust me and accept any happiness I try to bestow upon you," he said, gently, his eyes full of compassion and gentleness, if gentleness had claws and teeth, and he leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss to Dean's lips, cupping his jaw to make it last a little longer than he had before.

Dean gasped at the cold of Castiel's lips, his own parting inadvertently and Castiel's tongue slid between his lips, along Dean's own. His other hand gently dragged through Dean's hair, tilting the man's head back as he continued to kiss Dean. Without the bitter taste of Eve's eggs, and with Dean still feverish, Castiel's cold skin felt unbelievably good against his own and Dean let out a soft, reluctant moan, earning a soft hiss from the creature-God.

Castiel pulled away, leaving Dean panting and wanting, the aching emptiness inside of him coming back full force. "I will see you in three days, beloved," Castiel whispered, smiling, violence and love raging in his eyes and in his twitching fingers, and then he pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead and Dean woke up, gasping, in the hospital room.


	6.  So Lost In The Moments When You're In 'Em

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  He swallowed, trying to ignore the smell of blood and what it meant – that an egg had been lost. He didn't understand why that thought caused a little pang of sadness to grow in him. **Notes:**  Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Sam and Bobby broke Dean out of the hospital room not four hours after Dean had woken up from his sedation. He had told them what was happening – mercifully they didn't try and crack a joke about the whole thing. That's what Dean would have done, had he been in their situation, and he appreciated their tact.

It was a three hour drive back to Bobby's, and Dean sat in the back seat on top of several towels. His clothes had been cleaned and returned to him but every time Dean shifted he felt a new wave of warm wetness coat his thighs until it felt like he was sitting in a warm swamp. He swallowed, trying to ignore the smell of blood and what it meant – that an egg had been lost. He didn't understand why that thought caused a little pang of sadness to grow in him.

Bobby's truck reeked of blood by the time they reached his house, and Dean was starting to feel a little sick from the smell and feeling of it. The storm still raged over Bobby's house, though the lightning strikes were getting less frequent – Dean didn't want to know if it was because Castiel was calming down, or because he was running out of Angels to kill.

Dean carefully wrapped his lower half in the towels and stumbled out of the truck, not waiting for Sam or Bobby to help, or to offer to help. He couldn't…he just couldn't let them, right now. He had to get them inside, and so he followed them in, head down, silent, and immediately went upstairs to go have a shower.

The first two towels had gotten dark blood spots on them and Dean grimaced, letting them drop into the hamper, along with his soiled clothes – the sight of his blood-slicked thighs made him sick, blood running down his legs in thick rivulets, smeared around by his clothing and his movement. He felt like a damn rape victim, torn open from the inside and made to bleed. Dean swallowed, wondering if Castiel was making him feel like that – if he hadn't made Dean's body hurt, but his mind and soul too. He didn't think it was beyond the creature-God anymore.

He didn't think _anything_ was beyond Castiel anymore.

He could still taste Castiel's kiss, feel the creature's icy cold hands on his skin. It made him shiver, and he stepped under water that was too hot, pressing a soap-covered washcloth against his skin too hard, scrubbing until his skin was raw, his thighs and ass just as red when clean as they had been covered in blood. His hands were shaking and it felt like he was going into shock – this was ridiculous. Women managed to bleed for a fucking week and not even one day in and he was getting shakes.

Dean took a deep breath to calm himself. Just three days. That's all he had to do. Then…

He swallowed again and stopped thinking about it.

He made it through the shower and, at a loss of anything else to do, stuffed toilet paper down the back of his jeans. He grimaced, already able to feel his blood sticking the tissue to his skin and it would be so gross to peel off later, but at least he wouldn't lose any more clothes to his damn…period. That's what it was.

Carefully, wary of shifting the wad of toilet paper, he made his way back downstairs. He hadn't looked at himself in the mirror in the bathroom, but judging from Sam's expression he knew he must look like Hell. He _felt_ like Hell.

He snorted. Well, they would both know.

Sam shoved a plate piled high with food in his direction, and Dean sent him a thankful look, sitting down on the closest chair with a sigh. Sam also discretely pushed painkillers and a large glass of water his way. "You'll need them later," he whispered when Dean looked at him in askance. "If it's anything like Jess or something." He bit his lip, averting his eyes, and Dean coughed, shoveling food into his mouth instead of replying.

They were all silent for a while longer. "I can go get some things for -."

"No," Dean snapped, cutting him off before Sam could say anything else. "You're not leaving this house. No one is. It's not…it's not safe right now." He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, pausing in thought for a minute. "I'll…I'll make him soundproof the room or something. But you can't leave. I can't protect you guys if you're not here." He looked at Bobby for a long moment, then over to his little brother. "Just a coupl'a days, Sammy, and then it won't happen again. Hopefully."

"Dean…" Sam swallowed, looking pained, over at Bobby then back again. "We can't stay in here forever. We can't just let you do all this while we sit here and do nothing. No, listen to me!" Dean was shaking his head. "This isn't something you have to bear alone."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, it is. 'S my fault he's like this so I'm gonna fix him." He took a deep breath, shoving away his half-finished meal. His gut ached; it felt like he had taken a good beating from some brass knuckles or something. He shifted, wincing at the wet feeling in his seat.

Another pause. "And then what?" Sam whispered.

Dean looked over at him. "What do you mean?" he asked, tone guarded. He moved his hands to rub against his sore stomach, his other fiddling with the packet of painkillers, taking out two and dumping them onto the table.

"After…if Cas gets dejuiced – if this works…Then what?" Sam pressed, leaning forward on the table, resting his folded arms on it. "He'll be a shell, Dean – we're not even sure if he's still in there. He could have died."

"No," Dean said, shaking his head again.

"Dean -."

"I'm not in denial, Sam," Dean snapped again. It was complicated. How could he explain that he just _knew_? "Look, if Cas wasn't in there, we'd be road kill. He's…he's helping us. Somehow." He shoved himself to his feet, grimacing again and taking the painkillers, downing the water in one go. "I…" He set the glass back down, not meeting Sam or Bobby's eyes. "I have faith in him."

Sam looked over at Bobby, hoping to get support or agreement from the older Hunter, but the man just shook his head, sighing hugely. "We'll be down here, researchin', I guess." He shoved himself to his feet and went over to the liquor cabinet, handing out a full bottle of Jack for Dean. "Make it last, boy."

Dean took it, his fingers loosely curling around the neck, and he nodded, pressing his lips together. "I'll, um… I'll be back down when it's…when it's done," he said, face flushing slightly, and he hurriedly took the rest of the painkillers, a large bottle of water, a glass, and some more food upstairs, intending to hole himself up until the bleeding was over and, hopefully, he would be able to start helping Castiel.

"Dean." Sam had followed him up to the bedroom, and Dean paused on the threshold, shoulders tense, not meeting Sam's eyes. "Please be careful."

Dean took a deep breath, turning around, and forced a carefree smile to his face. "Kinda can't be 'careful', Sammy – ruin the whole point," he said, trying to sound lighthearted and confident, but one look from Sam broke him and he deflated. "I will," he said instead, clearing his throat and swallowing, before Sam pulled him into a hug. It was one of those hugs that they gave right before one of them died, or right after they came back to life. It was the same kind of hug that Sam had given Dean after their second run-in with Gabriel. Dean hugged him back just as tightly, pressing his face against Sam's shirt, his Sammy.

When they pulled away, Dean wiped at his face again and forced a smile once more. "Make sure there's still food by the time I come back," he said with false bravado, clapping Sam on the shoulder, and then retreated inside of his room. Sam stared at the old wood for a good ten minutes before leaving.

 

 

"Crowley."

"Castiel." The demon turned around, rocking on his heels as the creature-God appeared in his newest abode. A little rougher around the edges than what he was used to but nothing that couldn't be solved with a good spit and polish.

Crowley grinned, forcing himself to remain calm as Castiel dark blue eyes stared him down. "And what can I do for the new deity in town?" he asked, clasping his hands together and subtly inching towards the door.

A wave of Castiel's hand closed and sealed it. He smiled, cocking his head to one side. "I merely wished to mend some broken bridges," he replied slowly, his eyes tracking around the room before flashing back to Crowley. He brought his hands up, loosely and languorously threading and unthreading his fingers with each other, dragging his skin over his knuckles and letting it fall back. "I understand there have been misgivings and bad blood spilled between us and I want to make it right."

"Ah," the demon King said, raising his eyebrows, and rocked on his heels again. He relaxed, only minutely, and took a step towards Castiel. "And what do you propose?"

"An understanding," Castiel replied, clasping his hands behind his back and turning away from Crowley, eyes searching around the room. He could see the various wards put up to keep all sorts of creatures away. In fact, the part of him that were still Angel would have been repelled by the sigils had it not been balanced out by so much _Other_.

"An…understanding?" Crowley repeated, going to stand by the large mahogany desk, resting back on it. "What kind of understanding?"

Castiel took a deep breath, turning around to face Crowley. "Heaven is mine," he began, tilting his head to one side, watching the demon's soul roil and shift nervously inside of his meat suit. The corners of Castiel's lips quirked up in a smile. "Purgatory was mine and can easily be mine again. That just leaves Earth…" He cocked his head to other way, insect-like, and his voice had a hiss under it, "and Hell."

"Well," Crowley said, standing up and clapping his hands, then spreading his arms in a gesture of goodwill and peace. "Earth can be yours, mate. Frightfully cold up here, if I do say so myself."

Castiel held up a hand, silencing the demon mid-ramble.

"I have no interest in attaining Hell," Castiel said, with no small amount of derision. "But I do admire what you have done to it. I confess the matter of obtaining Dean Winchester's soul may have been a lot less…complicated, had you been in charge."

"Every little helps," Crowley said uneasily.

Castiel paused. "Indeed." He sighed again, looking around the small room. One by one the sigils disappeared from existence. "If I'm perfectly honest, Earth does not hold that much allure to me either. I plan to appoint someone else to govern it for me, by my side." He looked over at the demon again. "The new All-Mother, if you will."

"Oh?" Crowley asked, perking up a little, his interest piqued.

"Yes." Castiel nodded, smiling again at the eagerness in Crowley's soul. "And I would like to guarantee some sort of protection to them. I cannot be everywhere at once, after all, and I will need as many…understanding eyes as I can get to watch and make sure that the All-Mother is safe while I conduct my business, until such a time as they are ready to take their place at my side."

The demon paused again, his brow furrowing. Something was very wrong, here. "I see," he said slowly. "Does this mystery person have a name?"

Castiel's eyes flashed cruelly, black and fathomless. "Will you swear to protect them with your very blood and soul, and all the powers at your disposal?" he asked in a low purr. "No oath, no name, demon."

Crowley pouted, smirking a little. "Oh come on, love, don't hold back," he said, folding his arms across his chest and rocking on his heels once more. Castiel continued to stare unblinkingly at him until the demon rolled his eyes. "Fine. My solemn oath," the demon vowed, holding up his middle three fingers in a Girl Scout salute.

"Body, soul, and blood," Castiel prompted, voice unwavering, eyes unblinking. "If you forfeit this person's safety for your own gain or my loss, I will have everything from you. I will devour you, Crowley. Irrevocably."

"Kinky," the demon replied, but the creature-God's eyes didn't miss the little shudder that ran through the demon's shriveling soul. "Very well," Crowley said, spreading out his hands again as he sauntered over to Castiel, grinning. "Body, soul, blood. Now who's the, uh, little hen I'll be babysitting?" He grinned again.

Castiel smiled, turning towards the demon. "Dean Winchester," he replied.

Crowley blinked, repeating the name as he stepped away. Panic flashed across his face when he turned away from Castiel, the creature watching the demon patiently as he gave Crowley time to take in this information. "I…" He growled, whirling around on Castiel. "You can't be serious."

"Deadly," Castiel said with another cruel smile. "And you have sworn your services to his protection. Congratulations."

"This seems like a lot of trouble on my part," Crowley said, quickly recovering. "After all, Winchesters are notorious trouble magnets. I may need a bit more…compensation, you know, labor cost and all that."

Castiel laughed – it was a chilling sound, and his eyes flashed for the briefest moment. His voice had layers. "Oh, Crowley…" He shook his head, still chuckling, before he met and held the demon's gaze. "You'll get exactly what you deserve, not to worry."

Crowley was about to reply, but then Castiel's eyes moved away from his, growing unfocused, tilting his head as though listening to something that only the creature could hear. There was the sound of a sword being drawn, so clear and close that Crowley looked around for a secret Angel blade aimed for his heart, but there was none.

"We shall talk later, to discuss the final terms," Castiel murmured distractedly, and then his gaze sharpened and he smiled once more, flashing teeth. "Until then, King of Hell."

The creature-God disappeared, and Crowley let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Well," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll be damned."

 

 

On the third day, Dean woke up with old, drying blood on his legs, but no new wetness coated his skin. He was at once relieved and anxious – it meant he had stopped bleeding, but it also meant that the _next part_ had to happen, and Dean was honestly terrified. Whenever he thought of Castiel, pure fear coiled up in his gut like a leaden snake with spikes on its tail, dragging along his insides. He was afraid – he'd admit it. He could still feel Castiel's cold hands on him, his kiss on Dean's mouth and forehead. Every time he closed his eyes he could see Castiel's eyes, flashing with so many other things that weren't him.

But he had to do this. For Cas.

He took a deep breath, shoving himself out of bed. The sheets had a stain of his blood on them since he hadn't bothered to change them every night and they stuck to his skin, staining him red. Dean moved to the bathroom, schlepping off his soiled clothes and wiping his legs down, just so that he could feel a little cleaner.

Some small, dark part of him that Dean didn't want to think about trembled with anticipation – the part of Dean that he wanted to think was born in Hell, just so that he could survive – the part that wanted to please and submit to a powerful creature, just to taste and drink in that power. The part of him that Dean wanted to think was Castiel's doing ached with the need to be filled. He didn't want to keep bleeding – he felt weak and unbelievably sore, and he just wanted to feel alright. He felt fevered and he wanted to do nothing but lay in a bath of ice water, just so that he might be numbed all over, and wouldn't hurt, and wouldn't _need_.

Dean pulled on a fresh pair of underwear and a t-shirt and sat on the bed, steeling himself for what was to come. He closed his eyes.

"Cas."

He didn't know what he expected – maybe for the creature to just be _waiting_. There hadn't been a lightning strike above the house for almost a day. Whatever Castiel was doing was keeping him out of Heaven, at least.

"Cas," Dean whispered again, opening his eyes, looking around in case the creature had managed to fly in without making a sound. "Come on, Cas. I'm ready."

Still silence. It dragged on, and on, until Dean realized that Castiel wasn't just going to wait to be at Dean's beck and call. No. That was for a servant, and Castiel was no servant. _"Soon, your body will call out for me, and I will not deny you, just as I have not denied you anything else."_

Dean swallowed, closing his eyes again. "Please, Castiel," he whispered, rubbing his hands through his hair. He was so tired – he felt so weak, his hands and legs were trembling. "Please. I…I need you." And it was true – it was almost frightening how much his skin seemed to flush, Castiel's spell over him making Dean's body respond to the need of his 'cycle'. "Please, Cas, I want…I want you. Here with me. Let me help you."

Razor blades crashed to the floor and Castiel was there, standing on the other side of Dean's bed. He stared unblinkingly at the Hunter as Dean stood up and turned around, facing him from the other side of the bed. Then, the creature's nostrils flared as he inhaled, his eyes flashing down to the bloodstain on Dean's bed, then back up.

The air crackled around Castiel as he smiled, his eyes flashing darkly. "Are you ready to accept what I'm willing to give you, Dean?" he asked, cocking his head to one side. Dean bit his lip, looking down, the fine hairs on his arms rising in response to the powerful creature's chill, spreading out through the room while his spine flushed hot. He could feel his cheeks burning under Castiel's gaze and he tried to meet the creature's eyes, but whenever he did all he saw was the millions of _Other_ , and he couldn't.

Castiel's eyes narrowed slightly and he tilted his head the other way. "Show me," he commanded.

Dean froze. "What?" he asked, his voice coming out weak and raspy. He cleared his throat, swallowing again, and shuddered when the creature's eyes darkened.

"Show me," Castiel said again, this time with a harder voice, with no room for argument or question. "Prove that you truly want the gifts I am willing to bestow upon you. I want to see the devotion in your eyes, Dean."

Dean swallowed again, looking anywhere but Castiel's face, before his eyes settled on the bloodstain smeared over the sheets. He closed his eyes, fingers digging into his biceps. He didn't want to go through that again – it had been awful. Just the physical feeling of it, let alone the other implications that he didn't want to think about.

He leaned forward, and crawled onto the bed. He knelt in the middle of the blood, clenching his jaw at the warm, wet and dry, flaky feeling under his knees, and pushed himself up so he was kneeling in front of Castiel, his face level with the Angel's.

He took one of Castiel's hands and guided it to his hair, and the creature watched it travel, his fingers loosely threading through the Hunter's sleep-mussed hair. Dean swallowed, the cold touch making him shiver, his lips parting to try and get more air into his starved lungs – it was like trying to swim in an icy ocean, breathing like this. He moved Castiel's other hand to flatten over his stomach, above his t-shirt.

"I am empty," he whispered, feeling the truth of the words as he said them. Castiel's gaze was hypnotic; Dean found that strange guilelessness and vulnerability overtake him, like a prey animal trying to win its predator's good graces so it's not eaten. Castiel's eyes flashed with white light, like being reflected in the sun. "Fill me, Cas."

The creature looked over Dean's face for a long while, his eyes cold and calculating, leaving Dean to shiver in his arms, before he smiled. "Do you love me, Dean?" he asked.

Dean blinked, stifling a desperate sound behind his teeth; why wasn't Castiel just getting on with it already? The build-up was killing him. He shivered at the question, wanting to turn his head away but Castiel's hand had tightened in his hair and he couldn't move away.

Finally, he gave up, closing his eyes. "You know the answer to that," he whispered.

"Tell me anyway."

Dean swallowed, opening his eyes once more. "Yes, Cas," he said, and they both knew that Dean wasn't referring to the creature touching him now, but the Angel that Castiel had been, before… _before_. Dean's hands trembled as he fisted them in Castiel's hair, brushing it away from the creature's face.

Castiel blinked, cocking his head to one side. "You have knelt and sworn your love to me," he whispered, making it sound like a spell, and Dean's eyes widened at Castiel's triumphant smirk. "You are ready."

"Cas -." Dean's words were cut off when the creature leaned in, claiming Dean's mouth in a quick, dirty kiss, his hand guiding and holding Dean's head where he wanted it. The Hunter mewled softly, ducking his body down so he was sitting more on his haunches, submitting to Castiel's power that flared at the first tentative press of Dean's tongue into Castiel's mouth.

The creature hummed, praising his disciple with a tender touch in his hair, and gently pushed at Dean's shoulders, climbing onto the bed on top of Dean with the sound of metal scraping against metal. Dean tensed at the sound, making a soft noise against Castiel's lips before he wrenched his head away, needing to breathe. The cold was surrounding him and it felt like he was drowning, and he was shivering, every muscle trembling under Castiel's weight.

The creature hummed again, dragging his nose down Dean's racing pulse, inhaling at the flexing tendon in his neck. Dean gasped at the cold, but some instinct that may or may not have been his own made him bare his throat as much as he could to Castiel, clenching his eyes tightly shut when the creature's hand closed around his throat, holding him still with a light touch that felt like an ice burn.

"I should punish you for making them wait," Castiel whispered against Dean's flesh, his second set of teeth just brushing over Dean's artery, and the Hunter tensed, gasping again, his hands fisting in Castiel's trench coat. "They want your blood. Should I give them that?"

Dean didn't answer, but Castiel continued anyway, still holding Dean down by his throat. The creature opened his mouth, placing an open-mouthed kiss over the fleshy part of Dean's shoulder, the one not marked by his hand. "They want your flesh. They howl for it – I bet it would taste so sweet, Dean. Like…like the best thing in the world." Dean bit his finger to stifle a whimper when Castiel let his tongue drag over his sweat-tainted flesh, tasting it. "Yes. Perhaps I should give them that."

 _"Cas_ -."

"Or your heart." He willed Dean's clothes away, his icy skin even more obvious as he fell between Dean's legs, nuzzling at his sternum, able to hear the pounding gallop of his frightened heart. "That's already mine, though, isn't it?" He chuckled, scraping his nails over Dean's skin, drawing small rivulets of blood and making the Hunter moan in pain, tears pricking at his eyes. "That's all mine. They don't get to have it."

Dean made another small, frightened sound, unsure what to do with himself – he felt like he was being frozen solid, turned into a living mannequin for Castiel's own use, to be moved and altered how the creature saw fit. He wanted to shove Castiel away, to flee from the creature's sharp teeth and twisted words, from his dark presence and _cold_ , unbelievable cold, but he couldn't. His very soul trembled at its own helplessness.

 _Make him bleed_.

"No," Castiel growled, startling Dean. He opened his eyes, looking up at the creature, who was staring at some point on the bedspread, shaking his head. "No."

"Cas." Seeing his friend tremble like that, his eyes wide, so obviously torn apart inside, filled Dean with a new conviction and compassion for the creature above him – he wanted…No, he _needed_ to help Castiel, through any means necessary. He took Castiel's wrist, the one belonging to the hand still wrapped around his throat, and the creature's eyes snapped to his. "Come on, man. Stay with me here."

Castiel's eyes flashed white again, and then he was on Dean. He still hadn't removed any clothes but Dean could feel his icy flesh pressed on the inside of Dean's thigh and he shuddered, biting his lip to stop himself begging – for or against it, he wasn't quite sure. He felt too hot, empty. Castiel's influence made him feel like something was incomplete and it wouldn't be solved until the creature was inside of him, filling him up with seed and new life. Dean _needed_ that, on some level that he didn't want to acknowledge.

"Let me help you, Cas," he whispered, brushing his hands through Castiel's hair and drawing the creature down for another kiss. Castiel growled, his hands disappearing from Dean's body to undo the fastening and zip of his slacks, pushing it down far enough just so that his erection was exposed, and he pulled at Dean's hips, dragging the Hunter down the bed until both their bodies were hidden by Castiel's remaining clothes.

"A mother feels the need to bear children," Castiel whispered against Dean's lips, allowing the Hunter to breathe while they stared at each other, Castiel bracing himself up by one hand next to Dean's head. "Allow yourself to feel that, Dean – open yourself to me and accept my life."

The first touch of Castiel's finger to his hole had Dean tensing up, instinctively wanting to shy away from such an intimate area, but there was nowhere for him to run. He gasped, feeling himself spreading his legs without his brain's consent, and Castiel's finger slid in without a hitch, aided by the slick coating Dean's inner walls and slowly leaking down his thighs.

"Am I…" He gasped, shifting again when Castiel crooked his finger just slightly, twisting it to stretch Dean out as much as possible. "Am I bleeding again?" He'd thought it was over.

Castiel smiled, nuzzling into Dean's mouth once more. "Your body is accepting the life-giving power I have given it. You are opening and accepting me like a virgin on her wedding night." Dean flushed at the comparison, not sure if his pride was wounded by that or if he trembled out of delight to have pleased Castiel so. His trembling increased tenfold when Castiel added a second finger, his cold digits numbing the burn of penetration, and Dean cried out when Castiel's fingers crooked up, hitting a spot inside of him that made him so tense and lax all at once, pleasure so intense it had to be fake running through his body. "Relax and accept me, my mate. My Queen."

"Cas!" Dean tried to keep control of himself, really he did – it just felt so good. Whatever Castiel was doing felt _so good_ , and Dean couldn't help himself; he rocked his hips onto Castiel's fingers, his legs spreading a little more to allow the creature more room between his thighs. Dean bit down at the corner of Castiel's jaw, desperately fisting his clothes, rumpling it almost savagely. "Please, Cas, _please_."

"Almost, beloved," Castiel whispered, his voice soft and almost reverent as he buried his face in Dean's neck, inhaling the scent of his blood and sweaty skin before the fingers withdrew, leaving Dean empty and aching and _raw_. Castiel's hands moved under Dean's body, lifting him as Castiel thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt inside of Dean in one swift, almost brutal, thrust.

Dean arched up, crying out in pain, his body going tense as a tripwire as he fought to breathe through the unexpected, sudden pain. Castiel's body was so cold, numbing him a little but not enough to make it completely painless, and Dean scrambled at Castiel's clothes, trying to hold onto _something_ , to anything, to give him something to cling onto and keep him strong.

It hurt, yes, but it also felt good, with Castiel dragging along his slick insides, a need that he didn't even realize was there being sated so perfectly. Castiel felt amazing inside of him, filling him up in such a complete way. Dean took a deep breath through his nose, forcing himself to relax, his thighs releasing their death grip on Castiel's hips, allowing the creature room to move.

Castiel softly hummed against Dean's neck, praising the Hunter for his strength and devotion. Dean heard the sound of Castiel's wings shifting around them flaring high in domination and power, and Dean shivered at the cold eddies of air being shifted around the room, burning so hot but so cold as well. Castiel shifted, rocking his hips up sharply, and the action caused him to bump Dean's prostate, making the Hunter gasp and arch.

 _"Fucking_ hell," he growled, taken by surprise, throwing his head back, and Castiel laughed, doing it again, and again, until Dean felt his own cock thicken and swell in response to the pleasure. He gasped again when Castiel's cold hand wrapped around him, the creature plastering himself over Dean's body, and claimed the Hunter's mouth in a kiss once more. It literally took Dean's breath away, stealing his air, it felt like Castiel was drawing all the air out of the room and to himself, making Dean pant and shudder and tremble. The creature's thrusts became more powerful, drawing out almost all the way until Dean was convinced he would pull out, leaving the Hunter with that aching, empty feeling again, and then he would ram forward, praising Dean for his faith, rewarding him for his courage, until Dean couldn't take any more and kissed him just to shut him up.

They lost themselves in the cold and heat of each other's bodies, in the rhythm older than they were of two people falling prey to desires more base than themselves. Dean rose up, desperate for more contact with Castiel as the creature got more violent, rougher with his passion, and his eyes and skin began to glow.

"Yes," Dean whispered, eager for it to be over, eager to be filled and for Castiel to lose a little of his burden. "Yeah, Cas, come on." He wrapped his legs around the creature, clenching as tightly as he could and bucking his hips up, meeting Castiel thrust for thrust until the creature's orgasm was ripped out of him.

It was like a lightning bolt hit the room – Dean had to close his eyes because it was so bright, but even then he caught the black after-spots of extended wings on the backs of his eyelids. Castiel made a sound like he was in pain, stilling above the Hunter, completely hilted as he came, and Dean shivered at the freezing feeling of Castiel's seed, settling inside of him and giving him such a contented, sated feeling, that for a moment he forgot what exactly he had been doing this for – all that mattered was Castiel, the feeling of the creature's body on top of his, the scent of his sweat, the taste of his mouth.

Then Dean remembered.

"Three months," Castiel whispered, flattening a hand over Dean's belly and looking up at him while he softened inside of the Hunter, smirking, one corner of his mouth going up higher than the other. Dean shifted, aware of the dried blood at his back and the slick between his thighs. "In three months you will bear my child. I have sped up the process so that it will not hurt you. And I will try to make the pregnancy as pleasant as I can."

Dean swallowed, pressing his lips together, and nodded. Castiel smiled again, wrapping his hand around Dean's erection and gave it a slow pull, twisting his hand at the tip and Dean hissed, arching his hips up, trying to follow the contact.

His eyes were clenched tightly shut, teeth bared as Castiel leaned over him. "You have accepted my seed and my life into your body," Castiel whispered, making Dean shiver when the creature leaned down and gently mouthed at the tendon in his neck. "The most precious vessel in the world. Thank you, Dean, for relieving our aches."

Dean whimpered, swallowing again. He was drawn back into another kiss, Castiel cupping his jaw and pressing their lips together, his tongue easily sliding into Dean's panting mouth as the creature's hand sped up on Dean's cock, forcing him to hurtle towards his orgasm. Castiel's tongue curled around Dean's own, languid and smooth, at a complete counter to his hand, and Dean didn't so much climb up and jump off the edge of his orgasm as he was dragged there and thrown over. He locked up, his body going tense as he came, whimpering against Castiel's mouth, spilling over Castiel's hand. The force of it left him trembling.

Castiel withdrew from him, and the return of the warm air on Dean's skin felt like the fires of Hell. He shook his head, trying to reach out for Castiel, but the creature just smiled, once again at the end of the bed, looking unruffled as ever, his clothes fixed and untouched.

"Cas, don't leave," Dean begged, looking up at Castiel with wide eyes. _Please, stay. Let me help you._

"You have played your part," Castiel replied coolly, straightening up. His fingers twitched very slightly by his side and he curled those fingers into a fist to hide it. Dean bit his lip, stroking a hand over his stomach. "If you have not conceived, I shall return."

"Can't you tell?" Dean asked, looking down. "Don't you feel…lighter?"

Castiel cocked his head to one side, jaw clenching for a brief moment. "There are a lot of souls inside of me, Dean," he whispered. "And I think it's better if we wait to find out. Human parents always like the mystery of a boy or a girl, right?" He chuckled. "Yours will not be so limited."

He walked around the edge of the bed and placed another kiss to Dean's mouth. "Goodbye, beloved," he whispered. "I will visit you soon." And then he was gone, leaving the scent of blood and sex behind. Dean took a deep breath, feeling too warm in the room now that Castiel's cold presence was gone. He drew the dirty blankets around himself, ignoring the blood and semen and his own slick staining the sheets, because it smelled like Castiel too. Like ozone and quicksilver and ash.

He felt over his stomach again, biting his lip, and tried not to think about what he would have to do next. He might not have conceived – if that were true, he would have to lay with Castiel again. He ignored how his heart tripped at that, how his body trembled and his insides clenched with the anticipation of being filled like that again.

He closed his eyes, wrapping the sheets around himself, and vowed to burn them later. He just…wanted to sleep for a while first. He fell into slumber with the sound of sword fights in his ears and the scent of death all around him.  



	7.  As Long As The Wrong Feels Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean froze, closing his eyes and letting out a shallow breath, pressing his lips together as he felt the air temperature drop by several degrees. There was the sound of rustling cloth and shifting armor, and he knew Castiel was standing behind him. ****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. HOLY CRAP. Okay, I found Rihanna's 'Love the way you lie part 2', and DAMN. Might have to use some of those lyrics because they're both so PERFECT. *dances in the angst storm*

Dean stumbled downstairs three hours after Castiel had left him, changed into clean clothes, showered, and feeling a lot…well, a lot less, if he were being honest with himself. He didn't feel better, or worse, or anything. He didn't feel too hot like in the throes of his 'cycle' and he didn't feel too cold, like Castiel was hovering over him. He didn't feel empty or full.

He was tired. And hungry. Those two things were needs he could easily sate.

He was also sore – he couldn't quite walk straight, his ass and legs burning in an unfamiliar ache that he knew he would have to get used to if he were going to continue with this insane plan. He managed to haul himself downstairs and to Bobby's medicine cabinet – they weren't in the main room – and downed three Excedrin with a glass of scotch.

"Sam?" he called once the warmth of the alcohol began to burn down his throat and curl into a warm knot in his belly. "Bobby?"

"In here, Dean," came Sam's reply, and Dean followed the voice into Bobby's study, finding the older Hunter and his brother bent over a pair of thick tomes. Sam looked up when Dean entered, and Dean reevaluated how okay he must look because Sam's eyes widened. "…How did it go?"

Dean snorted, shaking his head – he didn't want to think about it. His body ached, and he had an ice burn on his shoulder from Castiel's mouth – sort of like God's hickey, a dark blue-white color on his skin. His head was pounding and he was starting to get shaky. Like it had just hit him, what he'd done.

"What happened?" Sam pressed, closing the book and turning to watch Dean make his way across the room and settle in a chair, not missing the slight wince and grimacing in sympathy.

Dean shook his head again, rubbing his hands over his face. "I'm not talkin' about this with you, Sammy," he muttered with a slight edge – he didn't _want_ to talk about it. It wasn't that he and Castiel had had sex. No, that wasn't the problem at all. It wasn't even the fact that Cas was only doing it to knock him up. "We did it, and he left. Said he'd come back if it didn't work. So now we wait."

It was that -. "He left?" Sam asked incredulously, cocking his head to one side, looking Dean up and down as though appraising Dean.

The older Winchester sighed, sitting forward and bracing his elbows on his knees, his hands rubbing over his face again. "It doesn't matter," he whispered softly, knowing just how much that non-admission made him sound so much like a lovesick, fucked-then-dumped girl. He shook his head once more, sighing heavily. Then, something struck him, and he looked back up, frowning slightly. "How are you?"

Sam frowned, cocking his head to one side at the abrupt subject change. "What do you mean?"

Dean raised a brow, relieved and glad that the subject had been changed. "I mean…what Cas did to you, Sam." Dean's expression changed, taking on the quality it had when Sam had been…well, Hell, pretty much since the whole 'trust' thing between them really became an issue – Dean wanted the truth, but he was too tired to really fight for it. "How do you feel?"

Sam swallowed, looking away, tapping his fingers against the edge of the book. "It's nothing," Sam whispered. "I get flashes, I mean – it's not like nothing happened," he said quickly before Dean could protest, "but it's like when the brain shuts down to protect itself from memories it can't handle, right? Sometimes…sometimes I just feel _heat_ , and it really fuckin' hurts, but it…I mean, it's only been a couple days and it's happened maybe twice. I'm fine."

"You're fine," Dean said, incredulous and disbelieving. "Just…fine?"

"I believe some of that is my doing."

Dean froze, closing his eyes and letting out a shallow breath, pressing his lips together as he felt the air temperature drop by several degrees. There was the sound of rustling cloth and shifting armor, and he knew Castiel was standing behind him. He opened his eyes, looking over his shoulder and, sure enough, saw a tan trench coat and open suit jacket with that same stupid blue tie. Looking up, he found Castiel smiling over at Sam, one hand resting on the back of Dean's chair.

Sam rose to his feet, slowly and warily, and Bobby carefully closed the book he had been studying while studiously ignoring the 'moment' that had been building between the two brothers.

Castiel's eyes flashed black, catching the movement. "While I appreciate that it is in your natures to want to 'fix' things, I would recommend against it." He looked down at Dean for a very long time, then to Bobby, and landing on Sam. "I am stronger. I am more powerful. I will win. Every time."

Sam swallowed – Dean could see him shivering in response to the cold of Castiel's presence. Honestly, though, it just felt pleasantly numb to Dean. His body seemed to be burning up, shaking in response to Castiel being there – the ache that he was starting to recognize and dread was building up inside of him and he knew that Castiel had returned because he hadn't conceived.

But; "What do you mean, _your_ doing?" Dean asked, voice raspy, throat dry.

Castiel chuckled, moving into the center of the room, standing between Dean, and Sam and Bobby. Dean felt like he was on the other side of a battlefield, with his brother and mentor across the room, Castiel keeping them apart. The creature spread his arms in a gesture of good will.

"It is but another symbol of my love and gratitude towards you, Dean," Castiel replied, though he didn't look the Hunter's way, his eyes still on Sam, roving over his face as though weighing him up. He held up a hand, his fingers twitching slightly, and Sam gasped, clenching his jaw tightly shut, his eyes closing tightly and he pressed his fists to his temples, knees buckling under the weight of whatever Castiel was doing. "The memories in his head are being kept at bay. One word from me and they will flood and ravage his mind like seas and fire over the Egyptians."

"Stop! Stop it!" Dean cried, suddenly finding it in himself to move, and he ran to Castiel, trying to jerk his hand away or break his concentration to save Sam. "Cas, stop!"

The creature dropped his hand, eyes flashing again, and he smiled cruelly when Sam knelt on the ground, gasping, rubbing his head against the lingering pain. "It is my new power that is allowing Sam's mind to remain intact." He looked over at Dean, expression dark, voice threatening. "They would do well to remember that when trying to find ways to kill or subdue me."

On 'subdue me', a second set of teeth descended from his gums and Dean flinched away from the vampire teeth, which vanished as soon as Castiel stopped speaking. "I get it, Cas – we get it," he promised, holding the creature by the shoulders and looking over at Sam, then Bobby, eyes wide and heart racing. "No books. No fighting. We understand."

Castiel's stormy temperament seemed to dissipate as quickly as it had come, and he flashed a smile Dean's way, too wide, showing too much teeth. Dean shivered when Castiel's dark, swirling eyes moved down his body, predatory, cold and assessing.

"You have not conceived," he noted, cocking his head to one side, and then his eyes flicked back up to Dean's, and he chuckled. "Shame."

Dean swallowed, stepping away from Castiel and letting him go. "Yeah," he croaked, watching Sam stumble back into his chair, still holding his head. "I…uh, I was wondering if…When we'd be able to…You know, tell." He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with talking about this in front of witnesses – it was hard when he knew people were listening.

Castiel just kept smiling.

"So…" Dean coughed, jerking his head back up the stairs. He couldn't meet Castiel's eyes, could feel Sam staring at him now, and Bobby too.

Castiel seemed to pick up on his discomfort, for his gaze traveled to Sam and his smile, if anything, grew sharper. "What are you so ashamed of, Dean?" he asked, voice a low purr as he closed the distance between himself and the Hunter. "What are you trying to hide?"

"Cas -." Dean's voice faded, all the words he was going to say – the denial, the negotiation – when Castiel's eyes locked with his, and Dean lost himself in the roiling darkness in Castiel's black pupils. His body shuddered with revulsion at the flashes of claws and fangs he saw, at red eyes and black eyes and white. The creature cocked his head to one side, threading a hand through Dean's hair.

He snarled, eyes flashing black, and jerked his hand, forcing Dean down to his knees as easily as nothing. Dean gasped, his knees knocking painfully on the wooden floor and Sam rose to his feet again. Castiel threw his other hand out, forcing the younger Hunter back down to his seat.

"Cas," Dean gasped out, fisting his hands in the creature's coat. "Don't."

"Don't what, Dean?" Castiel replied, voice cold and cruel, moving his gaze to Sam and Bobby, who was equally frozen, just in case. "What don't you want them to know?"

Dean made another soft sound in his throat, begging Castiel with his eyes to just…stop – to take him up to his room and then do what needed to be done so that Dean didn't have to _think_ , didn't have to confront what exactly he was having and trying to do. Castiel's smile softened a little and he crouched down, petting his other hand through Dean's hair and soothing the ache that his motion had caused.

"Do you not want them to know how you liked it?" he whispered, and Dean couldn't tell if Sam would be able to hear it or not – he couldn't move his eyes from Castiel's face. Didn't trust Castiel enough to take his eyes off him for a second. His body was burning, Castiel's cold body so close, so _cold_. His hands in Dean's hair felt amazing, soothing the burn and the ache in his head and _if only_ Dean could get that same relief… "How you knelt and swore your love to me?" Sam gasped, and Dean closed his eyes, wanting to turn his face away, but he couldn't. Damn it. "How, even now, I can feel how much you long for my touch, how much you want me to lay between your legs once more?" Castiel tilted his head to one side, and for an instant Dean could see a flash of _something_ other than the souls in his eyes. "What are you ashamed of?"

Dean swallowed, trying to shake his head. "I'm not," he whispered, and it was true – what he was doing was the _right_ thing. He just had to keep remembering what the right thing was. He had to keep remembering that there was more to this than just… _this_. He raised his hand, fingers trembling as he touched them to Castiel's cheek, and the creature blinked but didn't lean away. "Take me upstairs, Cas. Please."

The creature smiled. "When have I ever denied you, beloved?" he asked, then leaned in and claimed Dean's mouth in a kiss. The cold against his sensitive skin was so damn intense that Dean let out a soft sound, fisting his hands in Castiel's clothes and hair before he could stop himself. Metal crashed and grated against metal and suddenly Dean was being pushed back against a soft, clean bed. The bed upstairs – Castiel had removed the bloodstained sheets and replaced them with new, soft ones that felt like satin off a bad porno.

Castiel was on top of him immediately, clashing their mouths together in a savage, demanding kiss. Dean whimpered when he felt the delicate skin split under Castiel's teeth, blood rushing into their mouths and the creature growled. Dean began to panic when he felt another edge of teeth against his jaw – the feeling of a vampire's mouth was one he had hoped never to experience again. Boris was enough. Eve was just even worse.

"Shh, beloved," Castiel whispered, pressing a hand against Dean's chest and willing their clothes away. "It is just the creatures fighting to be allowed into your body. You must accept them. You must allow their touch and learn to love it just as the mother loves the child battering her womb."

Dean shivered, tears in his eyes from the ache and the fear – Castiel was less in control than last time, rougher already. His hands were bruising around Dean's ribs, holding the Hunter still as they continued to kiss, lips slicked with blood and the taste and smell of rust in Dean's senses was making him nauseous.

"Please, Cas," Dean whispered, blinking back tears of frustration and need, his legs spreading a little more, hips bucking up to try and encourage Castiel to mate with him. He _needed_ , so badly, his body burned with the desire to be filled, to help Castiel, to help _himself_. This was becoming just as much about helping him as it was about Cas, though Dean suspected that it was the creature's influence making him feel this way.

The creature growled, rearing back and Dean cried out when the chill left his body, leaving him too-hot and aching, empty and raw, but Castiel flipped him over and plastered himself along the Hunter's back, his surprising weight and strength pinning Dean down easily. Dean cried out again, getting his knees under and arms under him and shoving himself up and back against Castiel – the creature caught his hips, growling softly in warning, and it just earned another low, desperate sound from Dean.

"Do you love me, Dean?" Castiel asked softly, and Dean could feel the scrape of vampire teeth across the nape of his neck, and he shuddered, closing his eyes, head hanging between his shoulders.

"Yes," he whispered in reply, pressing back against Castiel's erect cock, feeling it ride the crease of his ass – _fuck_ , but he needed. So badly. So incredibly badly. His body was trembling – he could hardly keep his arms locked enough to bear his weight, let alone Castiel's, and he could feel the beginnings of the unnatural slick leaking out of him, coating his thighs in a thin sheen. "Yes, Castiel, you know I love you."

"And would you love what I created with you?" Castiel pressed, leaning back but keeping one hand on Dean's shoulder to keep him still, the other sliding two fingers inside of Dean's eager body. The Hunter shivered, spreading his knees out a little more, lowering himself to the ground in instinct, his body trembling, body clenching tightly around Castiel's fingers, desperate for more, deeper. "Would you protect anything that was both mine and yours with everything that you were?"

Dean moaned brokenly, fisting his hands in the satin-soft sheets, pressing back wantonly against Castiel's fingers. He felt like a whore, like a bitch in heat, but it didn't _matter_ because Castiel was _cold_ and _felt amazing_. "Yes," he cried – would swear anything if it meant Castiel soothed the ache inside of him.

"Swear it," Castiel growled, bending over Dean's back again, his slick fingers withdrawing and his hands going to Dean's hips. "Swear your love and protection to our children, to our new world."

 _"Cas_ ," Dean gasped out, his body dipping under Castiel's heavy weight, muscles straining and shaking to keep himself upright. _"Please_."

Castiel hummed softly, pressing his stubble-rough cheek against the back of Dean's neck, and shifted his grip so he held the bottom of Dean's ribcage. "I will never deny you," he swore, finally giving in and pushing in slowly into Dean's burning, welcoming body. So slowly, agonizingly slowly – Dean moaned in frustration, unable to push back because of Castiel's grip on his body, and when the creature was fully hilted, Dean felt damn near close to collapsing. His body was slick with sweat, restraint and need combining to make him tremble. "You will never want for anything as long as I am God."

Dean shook his head, gasping, forcing in his air through burning lungs and a panting mouth, and Castiel began to withdraw, leaving him open and empty again and Dean whined, throwing a hand back to catch Castiel around his thigh. "Stay," he whispered, clenching his fingers in the flesh of Castiel's thigh. "Please, stay."

Castiel chuckled darkly. "I'm not going anywhere, beloved," he whispered, before ramming back into Dean so hard that he lost all the hard-won air, but it felt _so good_ , Castiel hitting that spot inside of him that made Dean feel delirious with pleasure and need. He moaned at every thrust inside of him, clenching his eyes tightly shut, just trying to hang on long enough to make sure Castiel didn't slip away from him this time.

Dean came first, untouched, the relentless battering of his prostate and Castiel's own influence overwhelming him almost embarrassingly quickly. It was frightening how quickly his need to mate with Castiel could build into a frenzy so strong that it was almost painful to resist. Dean gasped, his limbs gone completely weak, and Castiel wrapped an arm around his chest, hauling him up so he was kneeling over Castiel's lap, the creature using his incredible strength to move Dean around as easily as a ragdoll.

Castiel snarled as he came, a vampire's teeth slicing through the tender flesh of Dean's neck while a wraith's spike drove into his thigh. Dean cursed, the pain shattering his pleasure-induced haze and Castiel let him fall back onto the bed, the creature covering him once again, rocking as deeply inside of Dean as he could get as he came inside of the Hunter, his teeth buried in Dean's neck still, tongue lapping kitten-like at the slowly oozing blood.

It wasn't like a lightning strike this time. It was more like an ice river, like Dean was drowning in the deepest parts of the ocean as the part of Castiel that made him so cold transferred into his body. Gone from the burning, aching need, Dean shivered under the creature's chill touch, goose bumps rising on his arms at the sound of metal clashing with metal.

Castiel withdrew from him when he was spent, the creature breathing heavily, blood around his mouth and hand from where he had pierced Dean's thigh, and the Hunter immediately rolled over, catching Castiel's arm before he could leave even though he knew Castiel could just disappear if he really wanted to.

"Stay," he whispered, looking into the fathomless gaze of the once-Angel, hoping he didn't so much like a desperate girl as he felt. "You swore you would."

Castiel's brow furrowed in what looked like genuine confusion. For a moment Dean felt like he was looking at _his_ Angel again, who had no idea who Glen Close was and was confounded by the simplest joke or dirty comment. "Our parts are played," he said, carefully removing Dean's hand from him. "It is time for you to rest and protect yourself."

"Let me help you, Cas," Dean protested, moving closer even as Castiel moved away from the bed, his clothes materializing on himself once more. "Damn it, Castiel -."

"You don't understand, Dean," the creature interrupted, turning his face away.

"Then make me!" Dean demanded, standing up again. He winced at the wet, sore feeling between his legs, but forced himself to breathe through it and walked up to Castiel, taking his shoulder and turning him around. " _Make_ me understand."

Castiel snarled, throwing Dean's hand away from him. "Do you know it is like to feel a million souls turn red with jealousy, Dean?" he snapped, eyes flashing black and white before returning to the dark, deep blue. His voice had echoes. "One race, possibly two, has earned freedom, has earned life inside of your body – when I look at you, I feel those who were not fulfilled in their desire." He snarled again, baring his teeth, his upper lip curling back. "I would destroy you, Dean."

Dean swallowed. "You're…you're stronger than that," he whispered.

Castiel barked out a harsh laugh. "We both know you don't think that – never thought I was strong enough before." Another flash of that _something_ , in his eyes, and Dean felt hope swell in him, knowing he was seeing parts of _Cas_ showing through, with less of the souls weighing him down. Then, it was gone, and Castiel straightened up, shaking his head. "I will return to you when the baby is born. Until then, a more suitable, more…restrained protector has been assigned to you. I will find as many as possible – you will not be without help."

"What protector?" Dean asked, eyes widening at that, but Castiel had already gone. "What protector?" he yelled to the empty air, but there was no answer. "Damn it," he growled, slamming his fist against the wall.

He pulled on more clean clothes and hurried downstairs. Sam rose immediately to greet him. "What the hell -?"

Dean held up his hand, moving away from Sam's hand – Sam probably wouldn't want to touch him right after sex with a creepy pseudo-God. "Talk later," he said, looking over to Bobby who was regarding him with a raised eyebrow. "We need to find a hunt," Dean said, looking between the two Hunters. "Or something – something dangerous. Life threatening. And fast. There's a rat we need to smoke out."  



	8.  I Love It The More I Suffer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's evil, and it will kill, and it's evil…" He kept repeating those words to himself, over and over, but the nausea didn't really pass until he forced himself to think about something else, and Dean removed his hand from his stomach, rubbing his hands over his face again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

"Nothing? There's _nothing_?" Dean stared incredulously through the third paper of that day, shaking his head when he saw that there was not one account of supernatural kinds of things – their kinds of things. Not even a long-shot article was in the newspapers. Dean checked the date again, making sure it was the right day.

Bobby shook his head. "Haven't heard a peep since Cas became the new God," he said, casually ignoring Dean's wince – the whole Cas-God thing was a little sore with him, for obvious reasons, but they couldn't just _not_ talk about it like they weren't talking about something else.

"That's ridiculous," Dean said, standing up and shoving the paper away from himself. "There's always something to hunt. They can't just have all…disappeared."

"Give it time, Dean," Sam had said, looking up at his brother with concern. "We'll find something. We'll smoke them out."

Dean closed his eyes and sat back down, rubbing his hands over his face. That was just the problem - he didn't _have_ any time. He was fighting against enemies that he didn't know, with protectors that he didn't want, and he needed to deal with certain _things_ that he had never dealt with before.

His fists clenched, thinking about what he was going to have to do if this didn't work. He turned away from Sam and Bobby and went into the next room, leaving them alone to undoubtedly share secret, worried looks and plan some sort of intervention. Dean knew they were worried for a good cause and honestly his attitude wasn't helping, but he just couldn't _deal_ right then.

He just needed them to trust him.

Dean paused on that thought, and swallowed back a harsh, bitter laugh. He had wandered into Bobby's kitchen, and closed the door behind him, and he lifted up his shirt just slightly and pressed his flat palm against his belly. There had been no change yet but Dean knew women could show as quickly as their first trimester, and with Castiel's sped-up version of the pregnancy it wouldn't be long before…

Dean swallowed again, and the hand turned into a fist.

"It's evil," he whispered, to nobody in particular. It felt like there was a core of ice inside of his gut, just waiting to grow, to shrivel up his insides and use his body for its own nourishment. He felt like he was housing a parasite that would sooner kill him than anything else.

He forced himself to stop thinking like that. That was in the future and, hopefully, it wouldn't happen that way. Dean couldn't believe he was thinking like this – he found the idea of killing an unborn child awful, but there were always circumstances. There were _always_ circumstances.

And Dean figured if there was any point at which it was for the best, then bearing the unborn spawn of supernatural, _evil_ creatures created out of a pseudo-rape scenario with a half-insane deity counted.

Almost as though the _thing_ could sense his thoughts, Dean's stomach roiled with nausea and he hurriedly sat down, gasping, breaking out into a cold sweat.

"It's evil," he repeated, pressing his other hand against his forehead. God, he felt sick, sick to his very core. "It's evil, and it will kill, and it's evil…" He kept repeating those words to himself, over and over, but the nausea didn't really pass until he forced himself to think about something else, and Dean removed his hand from his stomach, rubbing his hands over his face again. He allowed himself a few more minutes alone with his thoughts, and then he stood up again, replacing the mask, and returned to Sam and Bobby.

 

 

Castiel cast his eyes over the room once more, taking in the sigils of protection and hidden sight on the wall and checking that they were all correct. He did not want any spies on his plans tonight. He looked down and, with a snap of his fingers, lit the incense so that the air filled with the smell of myrrh.

He closed his eyes. " _Torzv c noqolh ol oiad c loncho,"_ he whispered, listening to the soft rattlesnake hiss of the souls in his vessel shifting to attention, eager to be the first to see what he was doing. " _Noasmi vran oiad_ ," the air burned brightly and hot, wind gathering up around him in response to the powerful summons, " _obza ds vmd mad monasci."_

He opened his eyes. "Gabriel."

The small amount of light in the room flickered and died, casting the room into darkness.

A small shifting sound – the voice sounded as though it came from far away, and had endured a lifetime of sadness between dying and being summoned here, now. "Hey, little bro," it said, the sound of Gabriel but not Gabriel at the same time. "Looks like a lot has changed."

Castiel smiled, lifting his head, and the room flared back to a blinding light as the millions of souls still inside Castiel were drawn for power and the creature-God cast the room into light, bright enough to rival the Host. "Hello, Gabriel," he said.

"How am I here?" came Gabriel's voice. There was a silhouette of the dead Archangel standing in the circle Castiel had drawn, but no creature manifested there beyond the shadow.

"I have summoned you."

"You can't bring me back," Gabriel insisted.

"No," Castiel replied, sounding apologetic, and shook his head. "No one can. But I have brought you here because I need your help."

The shadow shifted a little again, uneasily. Its edges wavered. "You've changed, Cas," the voice said, sounding sad and forlorn and afraid. "Too much to recover."

Castiel's eyes flashed, black and abyssal. "Is it any business of yours?"

"Am I to help you?" Gabriel countered. The shadow seemed to regroup into one mass for a moment before it split in half, pooling around the edges of the circle and searching for a way out, but there was none. "What have you done?"

"I have begun the path to the True Paradise," Castiel replied haughtily, raising his chin. "The way it should have been."

"No," Gabriel said, the black silhouette getting bigger, growing wings. "No. God would not have wanted this. You have betrayed Him, Castiel."

"I _am_ God!" the creature hissed, his giant metallic wings flaring high in dominion and power, lighting crackling along their edge. "Earth is mine and the armies of Heaven tremble in my presence. Hell's King is feared by me and controlled by me."

"No, Castiel. This isn't right."

"I have the new All-Mother," Castiel whispered, his voice going very soft and deadly, like velvet hiding the edge of a blade. The Gabriel-silhouette stilled, then, turning its attention to the creature. Castiel's lips curled up in a cruel, knowing smirk, realizing he had caught Gabriel's attention. "Soon, everything shall be in peace, and harmony." His anger was vanishing as quickly as it appeared. "But I need help. I cannot do this alone."

Gabriel paused. "You will not release me unless my pledge my fealty to you," it whispered.

Castiel shook his head. "No."

The Archangel's great, shadowy wings folded to its sides. "It burns in the light, Castiel," Gabriel said. "Let it be black again."

Castiel hesitated, and then obliged. The Gabriel shadow seemed to let out a sigh of relief. "Angel of Death," Castiel whispered, his wings flaring out behind him, encasing the darkness in their sharp, metallic span. "Will you help me?"

Gabriel paused again, and Castiel felt the press of the Archangel's great ebony wings against his own, warm and soft, black and cold, burning and freezing at the same time. Gabriel's presence shifted and leaked out of the circle, joining with the darkness and able to transfer his essence through it so that he could leave the circle and was free to move.

"Castiel," he tried, one more time, "you know that what you are doing is not what's right."

"Perhaps not," Castiel conceded, his blue eyes flashing, "but it is what's best."

"And you are sure of that?" the Archangel pressed. Softly, weaker than a new candle's flame, the first eddies of Grace began to light inside of Gabriel, brightening the Angel of darkness. "There is no doubt in your heart or in your head, or in the eyes of your All-Mother, or in the Grace of your disciples?"

This time, it was Castiel's turn to hesitate. "They will see my side soon enough," he vowed, making it sound like the most solemn prayer, and Gabriel's feathers bristled and shone in the light of his new Grace.

"Angel of Death," Castiel said again, "will you join me?"

Gabriel's silhouette shuddered, expanding in the darkness but still trapped by Castiel's wings. Even though neither of them could see the other, their presences were stark and obvious, each making the other shiver, their feathers bristling in threat, their hearts beginning to race out of fear of standing in the presence of something more power than they were.

"Yes, Castiel," Gabriel finally whispered, "I will join your mission. I will make this world safe again."

 

 

"Dean -."

"Sam, we are not talking about this."

The younger Hunter frowned, his brows coming together over his concerned eyes, dark with worry. Dean had yet to say a thing about the _giant elephant in the room_ since Sam had walked in on him binding the wraith wound on his thigh, his legs crusted with bits of blood and come that he hadn't been able to clean off all the way. The bite on his neck looked raw and angry, burning red and it had to hurt but Dean, typical Dean, was bearing the weight stoically, and also like typical Dean, was refusing to talk about it.

"Dean, what is he _doing_ to you?" Sam asked, unwilling and unable to let this subject drop – his brother was being _hurt_ , was being _used_ for something so wrong and Sam had no idea how to help. No, that was the thing – he _couldn't_ help. He couldn't take Dean's place, or share the load, or _anything_ , and it was killing him. "What if he does something worse next time, Dean? What if he bites you as a wolf, or takes a huge bite out of you like a ghoul? You can't just brush stuff like this aside."

"Sam." It was just that word, his name, but it was bit out with such vehemence that Sam paused in following Dean out of Bobby's house, letting his brother take a few steps unheeded until Dean stumbled, his bad leg giving out on him for a brief moment, and Sam ran forward and caught him.

"This can't keep happening," he muttered, lifting his stubborn brother until Dean could get his weight back on his feet again.

"Just let it go," Dean demanded, shoving himself away from Sam and leaning on a pile of old car skeletons to keep his balance. He felt ill – it had been four days since he and Castiel had conceived the child. Dean wasn't that good at pregnancy math but he figured he was the equivalent of a couple weeks, at least – early enough to get morning sickness. He hadn't thrown up yet but he could feel the need to, building up in him like a churning.

His plan was stupid – he knew it was, and he knew he was being stupid by not telling Sam or Bobby what exactly he was planning to do. All he had told them was that Castiel had said he'd assigned some 'protector' guy, and Dean intended to smoke him out by finding a Hunt and putting himself in danger.

And, if he got injured in the process and a certain something was lost, well then, that was…That was fine.

Bobby had finally managed to find _something_ – it was a long shot at best, but it was _something_ – on the outskirts of Charlotte, North Carolina. Possible animal attacks that looked a little too routine. Dean had no sooner heard the news than he was packing up the Impala, ready to go.

"Dean -."

"Sam." Dean paused, taking a deep breath, and he let it out, pinching his nose between his two hands and rubbing them over his face. "Just shut up and listen for a moment." He pulled Sam in close, unwilling to speak loud enough that anyone had even a hope of hearing but Sam. "If I…If I carry this thing to term, Sam, it'll be three months of Hell, and then I'll give birth, and then I'll have to kill it. And I can't do that, Sammy – I can't kill a kid, even if I know it's evil and not human and _wrong_. I just…I just want to get this over with, okay?" He shoved Sam away, wiping at his face again. "You happy?"

There was a pause, Sam staring over at his brother while Dean refused to meet his eyes, and Sam…understood. Kind of. He got where Dean was coming from, from a practical point of view – he'd already mentioned getting rid of the kids anyway and the sooner they got it done, the better. Not just for Dean but if this insane plan of dejuicing Cas was going to go down, then the sooner they got it all over and done with, the better.

"And we need to find out who's watching out back 'cause if it's someone that can be swayed to our side, then I wanna know about it." Sam sighed, letting Dean change the subject without comment. He nodded.

"Yeah, Dean," he whispered. "That makes sense."

"Good." Dean sighed again, wiping his face. He was exhausted. He might have to let Sam drive for this one because every part of him ached, and he was burning too hot, and he felt dizzy and sick all the same time. Every time he put just a little bit of thought into killing… _anything_ , his stomach churned and he had to breathe deeply for a good twenty minutes to fight the urge to throw up.

"Good."

 

 

It took the brothers a week to get to Charlotte, Bobby staying behind to possibly dreg up any more information towards dejuicing new Gods and maybe seeing if any contacts had found anything. They weren't letting this one die, Dean was sure of it.

A week-long road trip wasn't good for him. He had too much time to just sit and think. Just thinking some very dangerous thoughts. Like…So what _if_ Castiel and he created the new order? There were a lot of worse things in the world than having supernatural creatures who might actually be useful to society. And the Angels and demons were under control – Dean was sure Castiel would ensure Sam and Bobby and everyone Dean cared about were safe and happy.

But how would he do that? Death is the ultimate release, isn't it? He could just kill them all and keep Dean and force him to keep…breeding. Dean took a deep breath, rolling over in the backseat of the Impala and tucked his coat more tightly around him. He hadn't been sleeping well – the morning sickness had hit him and hit him hard and he was practically useless between the hours of six and ten, one and four, and eight until midnight, bent over a toilet bowl and emptying all the contents of whatever he had managed to choke down.

He had to give women credit to do this shit _willingly_.

When they got to Charlotte, it was like a ghost town. No one even peeped through their closed blinds when the Impala rolled into town, and Sam managed to get a motel room on the outskirts, but only after waiting for half an hour and ringing the bell repeatedly, until the owner was sure that Sam was, quote, 'Not one of those damn redneck headhunters'.

After a little questioning Sam had established that there was a farm on the other side of town where three guys lived with their giant-ass dogs. Those, it was reported, were what were causing the animal attacks.

"Werewolves," Dean had said. "Or skinwalkers."

"Maybe vegetarian vampires?" Sam had asked, wanting to cover all bases. Dean had just shrugged.

Not two days into the hunt and Dean knew something was wrong. They should have been attacked, or at least drawn attention by now. No one goes into a town like this, asking questions and driving a flashy car, without drawing attention. Finally the brothers decided that there was nothing for it – they would just have to go out and investigate the farm.

Dean had been right – they were skinwalkers. Big, mean-looking skinwalkers who honestly Dean couldn't decide if they were more threatening as dogs or as men, but they were just what he needed. Sam was right behind him, firing shots at one of the retreating dog's backs, Dean keeping an eye out for the other two.

Movement above him had him turning and aiming up, firing an unnecessary amount of rounds so that he would waste bullets and warrant close combat. His heart was racing, blood hot with anxiety and a good old-fashioned hunt. God, but he had missed this. He _needed_ to go after the skinwalkers, wanted to fight, to _hurt_ something. His stomach churned and roiled but it wasn't with nausea.

He managed to take one of the skinwalkers down with his last bullet and threw the gun aside, drawing a long machete instead while Sam flanked him. Sam took down the second one, the dog finally giving up with a soft whine as Sam emptied his entire magazine into its flank.

"One left," Dean whispered, and Sam nodded, favoring his own machete and tucking the empty gun back into his pants.

There was a low, rough growl and Dean whirled around to one side, looking into the red, bloodshot eyes of the last skinwalker. It was in the form of a giant bloodhound, kind of Cujo-esque, really, and it was growling as it advanced, baring large teeth, blood leaking from its muzzle and nose. Dean swallowed, alarmed when his mouth started to water at the sight of the blood.

 _Fuck_ , he thought, _I need this thing gone_ now _._

He crouched down in an attack stance. His heart was racing. "Come on," he muttered, and the dog snarled again, advancing slowly on him. Its nostrils flared and it bared its large, yellowing teeth.

 _Dirty Alpha. Wrong. Kill. Kill!_ Dean blinked, hearing the angry yell in his head, right before the dog lunged.

"Not so fast, darling."

"Dean!" Too late, Dean turned around to see Sam staring at him, but then there was a hand on his forehead and everything went black.  



	9. High Off Of Love, Drunk From My Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a brief moment, hope flared up inside of Dean, white-hot and bright. Then he remembered. Not Cas. Castiel. Suddenly the darkness looked a lot more inviting, but the voice had already gotten a grip on Dean and was slowly dragging him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. 

Death and Gabriel were not friends. It would be wrong to call the bond between them anything more than a very close business relationship. As one of the Archangels and also the Destroyer, Gabriel sent a lot of business Death's way. What people do not often know is that it worked the other way around as well.

Death's Reapers ushered souls into the next life but there were also other creatures who made sure the right souls went into the right bodies in their incarnation. It was no coincidence that the Destroyer was also the Archangel of the Incarnation. After all, it wouldn't do to have a middle man in that kind of situation.

So Death was aware of everything coming and going from this world. Which was why it struck him as odd that his old business partner was suddenly _there_ again. Gabriel was dead. Death knew that. He'd seen him into the next life himself – after all, Gabriel was an important customer. But Death had not seen any chance for Gabriel to return and suddenly this new deity came along and did his job for him.

It was very messy. Death didn't like messy.

Gabriel wasn't _back_ , per say. No one could do that, not even Death. But he was _there_. Death stepped out of his white Cadillac into the open air and closed his eyes. He liked England – it always smelled of rain and grass. Stabbing his cane into the moist earth, he began the long walk up to the top of the hill he'd parked under. There was a white horse made of large rocks pressed onto the side of the hill.

"Gabriel," he said once he'd reached the top. The moon hung like a scythe overhead and Death looked up, watching as it slowly began to fade away behind the cloud of the Angel's presence. Similarly, the white horse rocks were being covered in shadow. "Gabriel," he said again.

He waited for a few moments. The shadows took a shape – it was a dull, fuzzy shape that didn't have a clear outline and, against the black night sky, could be persuaded to be thought of as completely invisible. Death knew, though. Death always knew.

"Hello, darkness, my old friend," Gabriel hummed in greeting. His great shadowy wings unfurled and a small light sparked to life inside of where his chest could be thought to be. He was like a silhouette of smoke. "And what can I do for you?"

"You're back," Death said, only mildly surprised. He knew Gabriel was on this plane again – he had needed to confirm it, though, and get some answers. If there was one thing Death didn't like, it was uncertainty. He was meant to be the ultimate certainty.

Gabriel dipped his head. "In a way," he said softly. The light was growing, turning the middle of his smoky form grey. "Not entirely. Not even God can do that."

"And who brought you here, so not entirely?" Death asked.

Gabriel's wings hunched forward in anxiety. If he could do such a thing, his hands would be fidgeting with each other. "The new deity that's been causing so much trouble." He huffed out a breath. The horse was now completely hidden behind his shadow. "Castiel. The new God." The words tasted sour on his tongue to say.

Death hummed. Castiel – an interesting Seraph if he'd ever met one. Death had never seen someone taken away only to be dragged back to a lower or higher station. The only person Death had seen die more times than Castiel were the two boys he associated himself with.

"Castiel?" he repeated, tilting his head. Gabriel nodded. "Ah yes," Death finally said in understanding. "All the new souls." He tutted – that had been another thing. A huge surge of supernatural creatures had unloaded themselves on the world. Huge portions were fading away intermittently, though – the glow was getting softer, the light had less radiance. In the grand scheme of things, Death didn't trouble himself too much with that sort of hiccup. "And what does he plan to do by raising you and pledging you to him?"

Gabriel shifted uneasily again. "I don't know," he confessed, looking down. He turned around and joined Death so that they both gazed down onto the horse and the moon and the rolling landscape of hills and dales in England. "I believe I am to await further instruction. But I vowed to keep the world safe and so I shall do that. Regardless of orders."

Death chuckled. Gabriel always had been one for loopholes. "Very well," he said, waving vaguely in the Angel's direction. "Perhaps this sort of thing does not require my influence. I was simply curious."

Gabriel's wings fanned the air gently, the smoky eddies falling off like molting feathers and dissolving into nothing in the air as the Angel began to fade away. The moon had not moved in the sky. Death was timeless.

 

 

"Dean."

The Hunter's brow furrowed at the sound of his name. His entire body ached – his head felt like someone had tried to recreate Freddy Krueger using him as a life model. He burned. His skin felt like it was on fire and he was surrounded by darkness – maybe he was floating. He felt like he was floating.

The voice was familiar. He felt it like a hand on his arm, tugging him away. The hand was very cold.

"Dean."

"… _Cas_."

For a brief moment, hope flared up inside of Dean, white-hot and bright. Then he remembered. Not Cas. Castiel. Suddenly the darkness looked a lot more inviting, but the voice had already gotten a grip on Dean and was slowly dragging him away. A chill overcame Dean's body and made him shiver. He fought back against the grip, but it was no use – he felt incredibly weak and, loathe as he was to admit it, his body was still burning, still desperate for Castiel's touch and the cold felt so good, so unbelievably welcoming.

Dean's eyes opened. He was back in Bobby's house, in the room he had unofficially claimed as his own. The air smelled like blood and fire.

He wasn't alone. Turning around, he knew he would find Castiel sitting on the bed with him, and he wasn't wrong. The creature was sitting beside him, leaning against the headboard. He had had a hand on Dean's shoulder and when Dean turned around it moved to the Hunter's sweat-damp hair, pushing it away from his face. There might have been gentleness in his touch but it was only the kind of gentleness that one uses when they know if they press how they really want to, they will kill.

"What happened?" Dean asked. He remembered the skinwalkers, a voice, a touch, and then nothing. The voice had been familiar too.

"Crowley rescued you from the skinwalker attacks," Castiel murmured, his hand still stroking over Dean's head. His eyes were almost normal when Dean looked up into them. "It is good that you're awake now." He rose to his feet, and suddenly the gentleness was gone. His shoulders became tense, his eyes flashed black. His fingers twitched before he curled them into fists. "I shall return when your cycle is over."

Dean frowned. Cycle? "What?" he asked, sitting up, and then stopped. His jeans were…sticky. And wet. He looked down and realized why the room smelled like blood, and closed his eyes. Not again. Damn it, not again.

"The child was not strong enough for demon travel," Castiel said, his eyes snapping over to Dean's for a moment. His voice was completely flat and even, and Dean couldn't tell whether he was pissed off, sad, or just didn't care. "I shall return soon." And then he was gone with the sound of swords scraping together. Dean gingerly pressed a hand against his stomach. He ached – he knew he wouldn't have been able to feel anything there, and he knew that Crowley had just essentially helped him in doing what he was going to do anyway…It was all for the best.

He just…felt like…

He closed his eyes and ran his hands over his face. He needed a drink. Anything to fill up or cover over the _emptiness_ he felt when he thought about how he used to have _something inside of him_ and now it was gone.

 

 

Castiel _was_ angry. He was unbelievably furious, and it showed when he appeared in Crowley's home after leaving Dean's side with a crash of metal that sounded like a thunderclap. The demon raised his hands towards the angry deity, and he shuddered when Castiel snarled at him, but carried on nonetheless;

"Before we jump to any conclusions -."

"You swore to me, Crowley," Castiel hissed, his voice gaining echoes and layers of thousands. "You swore by your very blood that you would keep him safe."

"And I did!" the demon replied snappishly. "Not my fault the kid couldn't stand my ways of travel, is it?" Castiel growled again, but he did not advance, so Crowley pressed on; "Look, you told me to keep Dean-o safe. I did that. I _removed_ him from the danger."

Castiel paused for a moment, and then straightened, raising his head. His eyes narrowed in suspicion at Crowley. "Yes, you did," he said slowly, and then averted his gaze, looking around the walls. Crowley hadn't noticed that his sigils had disappeared. Or he figured being useful to the most powerful creature in the world was protection enough.

"Makes you wonder," Crowley said, almost singsonging the words as he knew they were what Castiel was thinking, "why good ol' Dean-o put himself in that danger in the first place, if he knew he was…well, pregnant." Crowley blanched at the word. Demon or not, he drew the lines of 'weird' at some things. Male pregnancy was decidedly one of them. "Such an important vessel," he shrugged, "should know its importance, don't you think?"

For a moment, Castiel looked uncertain – the briefest expression of anxiety flashed across his face, and then it was gone and his expression was calm, giving nothing away. "I expect you'll be more accommodating to the child in the future, should this happen again," he snapped, and Crowley nodded.

"Oh yes," he said, rocking on his heels and folding his arms behind his back. "After all, the children are -."

Castiel had already gone.

"- Our future," Crowley finished, smirking to himself. Then he shrugged and turned back to his writing desk. On it was a thick leather-bound book; open about two-thirds of the way from the beginning. Crowley pursed his lips, running his finger down the lines, and then gave a soft noise of triumph. In his hand his cell phone materialized. He chose the contact he wanted and pressed it to his ear.

"'ello love," he said, chuckling at the exasperated growl at the other end. "Patience, sweetheart. I might have something 'ere for you if you're still interested in cocking up the 'Whole New World' plan."

 

 

Castiel came back quicker than Dean had expected. He'd just stepped out of the shower with a towel slung around his hips, and pulled up short when he saw the creature standing in the middle of the room. He was staring at Dean's bed, at the telltale bloodstain that marked the passing of Dean's child and the reintroduction of his 'cycle'.

He turned when Dean entered the room and Dean sucked in a breath. His eyes were flat and dangerous. When he spoke, he snarled.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean swallowed, an involuntary shiver running through him and he fought the urge to press back and retreat into the bathroom. That would be cowardly and it wouldn't get him anywhere. Instead, he forced himself to remain casual, walking into the room. His fist clenched a little tighter around the towel and he wished he had something more on when Castiel's eyes landed on him, following like a cat watching a mouse run across a room, letting it get so close to safety before it pounced.

"Back so soon, Cas?" he asked, turning around and sitting back down on the bed, despite the still-warm bloodstain on it. He felt safer with his back to the wall.

Castiel cocked his head to one side, watching Dean unblinkingly for a long moment. His eyes swirled with black and Dean felt the hair on his arms rising, goose bumps rising on his skin in response to the cold and the fear trickling into him. "Do you love me, Dean?" Castiel asked softly.

Dean closed his eyes. So it would be like that. He opened them again and Castiel was closer, standing right in front of him by the bed. Dean shivered and turned his face away for a moment, unwilling to meet those fathomless, dark eyes.

"Cas -."

"Look me in the eye," Castiel snapped, and before he realized what he was doing, Dean was staring into Castiel's eyes. He couldn't disobey with Castiel standing so close. Dean could feel blood slicking up his thighs, soaking through the towel and making it stick to him, but it felt like when Castiel made him get wet when they had sex. It was like a Pavlovian response that the slow burn of arousal curled low in his gut.

Castiel's eyes flashed for a moment, a smirk curving his lips, one side higher than the other, and he reached forward, brushing a hand through Dean's hair. "The eyes are the windows to the soul," he whispered, eyes tracking over Dean's face for a moment before he leaned in as though Dean had written his innermost thoughts all over his face and Castiel was trying to read them. "And your soul is dark." He paused, watching Dean's face for a long time. The Hunter began to shiver as Castiel's cold presence leeched into his bare skin even as the burning need that he'd come to recognize as Castiel's influence when they were together warmed him from the inside. "I remember it used to shine so brightly."

Dean swallowed, wanting to hide away, to break their gaze or _something_ , anything to give him some protection because it felt like Castiel effortlessly stripped him bare and there was nowhere to hide and it scared Dean, more than he would care to admit.

Then, the moment was gone, and Castiel growled low in the back of his throat. "So you love me," he muttered, straightening up and letting Dean go, "and you agreed to bear the next generation, to be the new All-Mother." He paused again, looking down at Dean. "Why did you willingly seek out the danger?"

Dean blinked, then his eyes widened when he realized. Damn it. He swallowed, his mouth gone dry. "I…" He swallowed again. "People were dying, Cas." He knew, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, that Castiel wouldn't buy it. "It's what I do – save people, hunting…"

"It is _not_ what you need to do _now_ ," Castiel snarled, and Dean flinched back against the headboard. He imagined that Castiel's wings were flaring out, huge and metallic and shining, radiant but terrifying all at once. "Under my protection, no harm will come to you."

"That's not what hunting is about!" Dean snapped back, getting to his feet. He was _right_ about this, damn it. "You _know_ that, Castiel – you used to hunt with me, do you remember? It's about saving other people and keeping them safe and I will _not_ let the fact that you knocked me up get in the way of that."

Castiel growled, low and dangerous. The very air seemed to disappear from the room and Dean gasped. "You choose the life of strangers over your own flesh and blood?" he asked, voice sharp and cruel. "Over the flesh and blood of the person you claim to love?" He chuckled and the sound had razor edges. "I thought family was the most important thing to you, Dean."

The words struck Dean to his very core. He swallowed, his hands shaking for a brief moment, and he looked down. "I think you made it clear what you thought of family," he said, looking back up. "And you know you're not the person I…" he cleared his throat, swallowing, "that I love."

Castiel's laugh, if possible, was crueler this time. "Perhaps not," he said, "but I'm the best you're going to get." He stepped closer once again, trapping Dean against the bed. "There is more than just Crowley," Castiel murmured, eyes flashing white for the briefest moment and Dean sucked in a breath, his body trembling. "You may play the guileless innocent in this Act but I know your true character. I'm writing the play, after all." He smiled and leaned down, perching on the edge of the bed, and pressed a soft, deceptively gentle kiss to Dean's forehead. Then to his cheek. Finally he claimed Dean's mouth, his own tasting of blood and sour wine and Dean blanched but took it, because he had no choice. Castiel's tongue curled around his own, drawing a shiver out of Dean and a whine when Castiel bit down on Dean's lip, hard enough to hurt but not enough to break skin.

One hand went into Dean's hair, knotting it tightly and tilting Dean's head away so his throat was bare, and Castiel inhaled at Dean's flying pulse, his mouth beginning to water as the millions of souls inside of him clamored to consume, to claim, to _take_. He fought them back, growling – this one was _his_. His alone.

He pressed a kiss to Dean's artery, licking at the clean-smelling skin. "You will not lose another child," he intoned, almost like a chant or a spell and Dean stiffened in his hold. "I will make sure of it."

"Cas -." Dean tried to touch, to reciprocate or push Castiel away – he wasn't sure – but he was held still by the creature's power.

Castiel chuckled. "I will return in three days after you have stopped bleeding," he said. "You will not leave this house. Everything will be provided for you, and your brother, and Bobby Singer. None of you shall come to harm as long as you are bleeding." And then he was gone and Dean fell back against the headboard. He drew his legs up to his chest, knowing he would need another shower pretty soon. Hell, it would probably be better if he just spent three days in a tub of hot water and only draining and refilling it when it turned completely red. He shuddered, closing his eyes.

"It won't get better," he whispered to no one in particular. He pressed a hand against his stomach that still ached from the sudden loss, though he had no idea how. Maybe Castiel was punishing him by making him feel as though a part of him was missing. Maybe he really _had_ formed such an attachment with the monster child and just hadn't acknowledged it.

He just wanted it to be over but he hadn't even started. He needed to be strong, to get through this, because this was _Cas_. Cas was still in there, somewhere, probably scared and horrified at what he was doing. Dean hoped he was – he hoped Castiel would be alright and have seen what he was doing. All of it.

In a dark, sadistic sort of way, a way that Dean didn't really want to think about, he hoped Castiel was suffering, because at least that meant he would learn his lesson.

It was probably a lot like Hell. Let Castiel feel it on the business end now.  



	10. Just Gonna Stand There And Hear Me Cry?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  It sucked, constantly bleeding and it took more of a toll on him than he would care to admit, but in a way, he knew he deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. And again, I don't really like this chapter :/ I don't think I'm getting Castiel quite right in my head yet, maybe. *shrugs* Oh well. And I'm sorry updates are taking so long I've been crazy-busy. Anyway, enjoy!

Dean didn't really know why he was surprised anymore – really, he shouldn't be. Castiel had said he would provide and at least the son of a bitch was living up to that promise, if nothing else. One look in the bathroom cabinet and Dean had been facing a well-stocked supply of painkillers, toiletries and – he blanched a bit – pads and tampons.

Dean had lived with Lisa for almost a year; he knew the basic operation of such things. Hell, more than once he'd had to buy them for her so his man-pride was definitely broken on that account, but he found himself staring at them – ranging from different strengths, marked by the number of drop shapes on the packaging – for a good half hour, wondering if his pride would let him accept the fact that maybe it would be a good idea to put them to use. He kind of…it kind of felt like cheating.

He wasn't sure how, but he…he felt like he _needed_ to feel this. It sucked, constantly bleeding and it took more of a toll on him than he would care to admit, but in a way, he knew he deserved it. He had deliberately put himself in a situation where this would happen to him so it was only fair that he took the punishment without complaint.

Dean swallowed, shutting the mirrored cabinet door and staring at his reflection. He bit his lip, pressing a palm against his flat stomach, and thought of Ben, and of Sam as a child. If Ben had been the Changeling, if Sam had remained the demonic 'abomination' that Azazel had poisoned him to be, would Dean have delivered the killing blow?

He swallowed and shook his head, bracing himself against the sink. He felt sick.

No. No, he wouldn't have done it. So what gave him the _fucking right_ to do it now? To _willingly_ cause a child's death – even one that hadn't been born, even one that would be evil and inhuman?

He deserved this. That child's blood was on his hands and now it was staining his thighs, branding his skin with proof of his evil deeds. So he didn't want to take the easy way out – blood was on his soul now, inside of his very being he felt like he was bleeding, and he wanted the entire house to stink of his sin, to reek of blood. He wanted to exile himself to Hell once more, where it always rained blood and smelled of death.

But that wouldn't be fair to Bobby or Sam. Dean sighed, rinsing his hands and scrubbing them over his face. He then took out one of the pads and, after cleaning himself once more, gingerly placed it on the inside of his underwear and shrugged his jeans on. Aside from having the vague feeling of wearing an adult diaper, it didn't feel overly intrusive, and already Dean felt a little cleaner, not having to feel his blood leaking down his legs. He did not, however, take any painkillers, because that was still cheating.

It was dark outside when he came downstairs, and Sam was staring out of the window with one of those 'figure out the puzzle' looks on his face.

"Somethin' you wanna tell us, boy?" Bobby asked, startling Dean as he seemed to just appear in the doorway to the kitchen, and Dean looked over at him, frowning in confusion. "Entire pantry's stocked. Took a beer out and the damn thing replaced itself." Bobby raised an eyebrow expectantly and, almost as if to prove his story, handed Sam and Dean two beers.

Dean swallowed, opening Sam's before giving it to him and then his own. "Um…" He paused, not really sure how to explain that basically Castiel was laying siege to them, except there was no option to come out when they wanted to.

"What the _Hell_ , Dean?" Sam finally snapped, getting to his feet. For some reason a sharp spike of fear ran down Dean's spine and he took a step away from his brother without realizing what he was doing. "What is going on?" He pointed outside, and Dean took another look out of the window. It was…dark. But darker than dark – they should have been able to see the light that marked Bobby's driveway, or the dark silhouettes of the cars, or even their own reflections against the starry night sky. There was nothing.

"What _is_ that?" he whispered, going over to the window. Only there was no window – it was a wall of… Dean paused, raising his hand and pressing it against the black veil. It parted and melded over his arm like fog. "What the…?"

"It's been there ever since Crowley rescued us from the skinwalkers," Sam said, his voice right behind Dean, who spun around again, nervous once more. He stepped away so that Sam could touch it too. "Which, again – Crowley?"

"I think…" Dean swallowed, looking down, and took a swig of his beer. "He's the protector Cas assigned to us, I guess. Make sure we don't get into trouble."

"But…" Sam paused, his brow furrowing. " _Crowley?"_

Dean shrugged. "Dude's powerful, I guess. Cas wanted to use that." He took another long pull from the beer bottle, feeling the alcohol warm up inside of him and settle into his gut like he'd swallowed cotton wool. It didn't replace the empty feeling inside of him, though. "Only it wasn't good enough, and now he's upping the game."

"What do you mean?" Sam whispered.

Dean fixed him with a look. "I lost the kid, Sam," he said, point blank, and ignored how Sam's eyes widened in sympathy. He couldn't see that look, and dropped his gaze, finding Bobby instead who was still watching the brothers as though expecting them to pull out the smoke and mirrors and rabbit and yell 'Surprise!'. "Knew it was going to happen; only I got a scapegoat out of that one. Don't think Cas is too suspicious yet." He gestured to the smoke outside. "Got a feeling this is his new plan. He said he…He said we can't leave the house."

Sam frowned. "Why would he do that?"

"Ain't it obvious?" Bobby finally snapped, breaking from his part as audience and stepping more fully into the room, drawing the full attention of both brothers. "S'practically Angel one-oh-one, boys." At Dean and Sam's uncomprehending looks, Bobby sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, and scrubbing a hand through his beard. "Look, when Michael wanted you t' bend over what did the Angels do?" He looked to Dean. "They trapped you and made it so that you wouldn't need a single thing, until they got what they wanted from you."

"So…" Dean frowned, cocking his head to one side. "Castiel's created his own Green Room?"

Bobby nodded, pressing his lips together. "I would say so," he said. "Already tried leaving this place once. Just ended up comin' in through my own back door when I tried leavin' out the front." He rolled his shoulders, sighing again, and Dean felt a wave of guilt wash over him – this was his fight, not Sam or Bobby's, but he was just dragging them down with him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, because he felt like it needed to be said, and Bobby just shook his head.

"No sense apologizin'," he muttered, scrubbing a hand through his beard again. "Like you said, we could have all stopped this but we didn't so now we just gotta deal." He clapped his hands together while Dean turned away, taking another huge gulp of beer until it was almost empty. "Well, since we've apparently got nothin' else to do, I'm gonna hit the books and see if the phones still work. Sam?"

Dean didn't hear what Sam said in reply, since it was said so low and his eyes were focused on the smoke wall again. It wasn't static, like an actual wall but it didn't swirl like fog or anything else sinister or Wuthering Heights-esque. It seemed to have a…pattern. It looked soft, and ruffled. Like feathers moving over a wing in flight.

He was still staring at it when he felt Sam's hand on his shoulder and just barely resisted the urge to flinch away. "Dean," Sam whispered, squeezing slightly and turning Dean around. "Listen -."

"If the next words out of your mouth have anything to do with kids, Sammy, then I will deck you," Dean whispered, not looking at his little brother and finishing the beer. He immediately wished for another. Fuck, it hadn't been this bad since Sam had died.

The thought caused another wave of sadness in him, combining with the ache in his chest and the _empty_ feeling – he felt so alone, at that moment, even though Sam was right in front of him. He wasn't sure if he wanted to burst into tears or tear down a wall. Maybe both.

Sam hesitated, and then let his hand drop. "I heard the skinwalker call you 'Alpha'," Sam whispered, and Dean stiffened, green eyes flashing up to his brother's concerned hazel. Sam looked tired too – there were dark circles under his eyes and he looked paler from not being in the sun as much. His hair seemed lank and greasy, his clothes unwashed, his skin sallow, and Dean swallowed, realizing he wasn't the only one getting a tough break, here.

"…That so?" he asked, realizing Sam expected him to reply but not really knowing what to say.

He nodded, biting his lower lip. "Got me thinking," he said, his hands coming forward to fidget nervously in front of him, and Dean's eyes followed the actions of his fingers dragging over each other. "I think that…" He swallowed, pausing again as he tried to think of how to put what he wanted to say into the right words. "Well…I saw the wraith wound, and the vampire bite and, well, if we're going with the classic mythology then dogs and vamps have never really gotten along, you know?"

Dean gestured for him to continue.

"He called you 'dirty'," Sam finished. "And 'wrong'. I think he knew what you carried inside of you – that you carried the Alpha, or the new breed, of something that was against his nature." He paused again and Dean felt a sick knot of dread begin to form, because he thought he knew where Sam was going with this… "And I think that maybe, if we had run into a vampire nest or something else like that, we would have gotten a different…welcome."

"Sam," Dean muttered, his eyes flashed to the smoke before he stepped closer, because he didn't know what Sam was suggesting and he didn't know who was listening, or watching. "What are you saying?"

Sam hesitated again, biting his lip, and folded his arms across his chest uneasily. "You could have power here, Dean," he finally said, meeting his brother's incredulous, disbelieving eyes. "If the creatures recognized you as the Alpha, not Castiel, then this world could be yours. We could finally subdue him."

Dean gasped, taking a step back from Sam, and his eyes widened further. "So you're suggesting I go _through_ with this?" he demanded, unable to take in the fact that Sam _wanted_ him to birth the next generation of monsters, of killers. "Do you have _any_ idea…?"

"It was just a thought, Dean," Sam snapped, rolling his eyes. "I'm not saying you need to keep the kids, alright? I'm just saying that…while you're pregnant, I don't know…" He shrugged. "I was just thinking out loud, I guess."

"'Thinking out loud'," Dean repeated derisively, instinctive anger and pain flaring up inside of him. "There are a lot of bad people who think out loud like that, Sammy," he growled, making up the ground he'd lost, taking a step towards his brother. The smoke wall seemed to shift and roil next to them. "So keep your Goddamn thoughts to yourself."

Sam stared at Dean for a long moment, before biting his lip and nodding. His eyes darted away and he looked down, deferring to Dean quietly. "I'll go, uh…" He coughed. "See how Bobby's comin' along with the research and…yeah." Dean didn't want to think that Sam ran from the room, but 'fled' would be the only other accurate term for it.

He sat down, pain flaring up in his abdomen – his muscles were sore, they ached so badly and Dean didn't even want to think about how much worse it would get over the next three days.

He pulled his knees up to his chest, leaning against the back of the couch, and stared at the smoke wall. It seemed to have calmed down its shifting from before, and was now still; rapt and attentive.

 _The power of an Alpha…_ No. That was bad – not only that, but… Dean swallowed. He knew, that if Castiel ever came to realize this – ever came to think that Dean and his children might be able to usurp him in some way, Dean doubted that Castiel would have any qualms about taking the children away completely, raising them as solely his, or just killing them outright like when animals kill the offspring of the Alpha that they just killed. It was a survival instinct and right now Castiel was just living off of that.

"You wanna know what I think?" Dean asked, to no one in particular, though the wall seemed to perk up and listen, if walls could do such a thing. "I think he's afraid." He chuckled, the sound bitter and hateful and so unbelievably sad as he buried his face in his knees and wrapped his arms around his head, blocking out the sound of metal in his ears and trying to ignore the feeling of his muscles crying out in pain and the blood he could still feel even though it wasn't running down his legs anymore. "I think he's fuckin' terrified but so angry he doesn’t know how to deal with it."

Dean might have been imagining it, but there seemed to be a hum of agreement coming from the room itself. When he lifted his head, though, there was no one there.

He shrugged. "Dunno," he muttered. "Just a theory."

 

 

When the Angel of Death descended on Bobby Singer's household, his orders were simple – no one leaves, no one enters. Gabriel wrapped his great shadowy wings around the house, covering it with his presence and, as the Winchesters would say, 'put his feelers out'. He could hear and see everything that went on inside of the house and in the immediate vicinity, if he paid attention. Which he did. A lot.

Gabriel hummed to himself. He hadn't thought his afterlife would be like this. To be fair, he hadn't given the afterlife a big thought at all – everyone knew that Angels who died ceased to exist altogether. They scattered down to their very atoms of Grace and were spread across the universe, but slowly, very slowly, Gabriel seemed to be reconjuring some of his Grace. He wasn't sure where it was coming from, but there was no mistaking the dark grey glow inside of his chest, that gave his wings power and his sword the sharpness to cut when he swung.

His orders were to protect Dean, Sam and Bobby while Dean still bled. Gabriel could smell the scent of blood and fertility in the house, faint but definitely there, as it had been in the Before, in the good old days when he was Loki and Seraphs were Seraphs and Purgatory was one of those places that people never really talked about and never really cared about.

The Angel of Death's great wings fell in heaps of smoke around the place like a demon's soul, only greyer and less ominous, like eternal hour-before-dawn. He rested his great head on Bobby's roof and wrapped his arms around Dean and Sam's windows, giant hands pressing against the glass to block their sight, and settled down to guard.

Inside of Gabriel, the Angel of Incarnation was being reborn as well.

 

 

" _Why_? _Why_ do you want him so much?"

Castiel was getting angry – worse than that, he was getting frustrated. With the loss of the vampires and wraiths inside of him, the number of souls had diminished, but that just meant that the others had more room to move, more power to collide with each other. It was greater entropy inside of the same space.

 _He's beautiful,_ they hissed in unison. _We want him_.

"He's _mine_ ," Castiel snarled, baring his teeth. The eternal Tuesday afternoon in Heaven no longer held peace and allure for him – the garish red kite in the sky just seemed to charmingly optimistic and happy and Castiel felt neither thing. No, instead he was on the top of a mountain, because no one heard him cursing and screaming up there.

He paused, kneeling down in the snow, his eyes swirling black as he reached down and traced patterns in it, seemingly at random, but the souls were guiding his hand and his twitching fingers, that were turning blue with cold.

When he was finished, he paused, and sat back, frowning at what he had drawn. "No," he whispered, shaking his head. The souls chanted inside of him – the same words, over and over. "No," he insisted again. "Dean wouldn't do that. Family is everything." He spoke it with scorn, like it was the man's greatest downfall – which it was – but it was almost the most admirable thing Castiel used to love about him.

Until 'family' ceased to be a word that included him as well.

He had consumed the bodies of the skinwalkers and the soul of the one that had been alive when Crowley had arrived to save Sam and Dean. The other two had already been ushered into Purgatory, out of his reach. He cradled the final one inside of him like a new child, and closed his eyes, seeking it out, one amongst the millions.

"Matthew," he whispered, knowing its name because he knew all of their names. The soul trembled in his hold, terrified inside of this vast being filled with so much _Other_. "Show me."

Images flashed behind his eyes – the skinwalker and his brothers, hunting, killing. The man that had turned the oldest of them first who had turned the other two; twins. The pain of the change, the exhilaration of his first kill as an animal. Castiel felt as his own the craving for human flesh, the close love and treasury of the pack, how each of the animals had loved each other as themselves. His mouth twisted briefly at the incestuous scenes, these dogs obviously taking family love a step further. He felt the dog's desire, his love, his sorrow when his brothers had died and his fear when the two men had come and he'd been the last one standing.

"There, Matthew," Castiel whispered, directing the soul's thoughts. "Show me these men."

He saw Dean and Sam through the eyes of the dog, tinted with fear and rage and blood. _Dirty Alpha. Wrong!_ The shorter man – the pretty one, who reminded Matthew of his younger twin brother – had smelled cold, as though he were already dead but moving around. He had glowed; Castiel saw, through Matthew's eyes, the aura of death and blood that surrounded them both, but Dean most of all. _Kill! Kill!_

Instinctively, Castiel snarled in anger that one of the souls had tried to hurt his child; had tried to hurt _Dean_. But the images played on; second by second. Castiel saw Dean's lips part, his eyes grow wide and dilate in lust. He heard Dean's heartbeat fly, smelled heat flare up in his body and, just for the briefest second, he saw Dean snarl.

"Enough," Castiel whispered, opening his eyes when the soul continued to play the images of Crowley appearing, faster than the dog could register, and suddenly both men were gone, and then Castiel had shown up. Castiel knew what he had done; he didn't need to be shown again. "Enough, Matthew. Thank you." He stroked some of his weak Grace over the soul, making it tremble again, and then let it drift back into the horde.

 _Do you see now?_ the souls whispered, pressing into Castiel's vessel, trying to guide his hands or his wings to move. _Do you see how beautiful he is? How…dark?_

"Yes," Castiel whispered in reply. He may have felt a brief amount of sorrow at that but it was overwhelmed by the lust of the millions of creatures inside of him. He pressed his hands into the snow, wiping out what he had drawn, and swallowed. Hunger and lust were building up inside of him – he had awakened desires he'd never known before, housed in the minds and wants of creatures who knew nothing but.

He cocked his head to one side, frowning in thought for a moment. "Matthew," he whispered again, catching the soul once more. "You do not think of him as beautiful?" he asked.

The soul curled up on itself. _No_ , it replied softly, barely audible over the other voices. _He is not my Alpha._

Castiel nodded to himself, pressing his lips together, and then, almost absently, he twisted his Grace around the soul, crushing it within his power, and felt it fade away. The other creatures inside of him roiled on, caught in the swirling maelstrom inside of him without a care for their fallen.

"Pity," Castiel whispered, to no one in particular.  



	11. Yesterday Is Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  The phones did still work – one blessing out of this whole screwed-to-Hell situation. He'd been waiting for a call and it had come in the wee hours of night of the second day. Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   So, after days of waiting for LJ and trying to get this chapter just right, I still don't like it. It seems…OOC. :/ Oh well, hope you guys enjoy it! Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Clearly I have magical powers because as soon as I say I can't post, I can. *headdesk*

Bobby sat back in his chair with a huge sigh, staring out of the window in his study again. The black fog hadn't moved yet but this didn't reek of demons. If the old Hunter watched it for long enough it seemed to have patterns, and shapes, but nothing really distinctive. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, knowing he should be getting some sleep, but he couldn't. His mind was in turmoil.

The phones did still work – one blessing out of this whole screwed-to-Hell situation. He'd been waiting for a call and it had come in the wee hours of night of the second day, when Sam and Dean had both fallen asleep, exhausted and worn out.

"Crowley." It hadn't been a question – there was only one person who would call this late that Bobby would want to hear from.

"How's the caged Iife treating ya, darling?" came the demon's smooth reply, making Bobby's mouth twist in annoyance.

"You got anythin' for me or are ya just wastin' my time?" growled the Hunter, making Crowley tut and sigh in dissatisfaction.

"Skipping the foreplay then," he'd said, and Bobby had remained silent, listening to the casual flick of a page being turned. "But yes, I have something that might be of interest to you. Only if it doesn't work you're going to have a very seriously pissed off deity out for your blood, and mine." A pause. "I've been around a long time, Singer, and I'd like to continue that trend. What's…this information worth to you?"

"How about I don't tell Cas how his little demon bitch deliberately waited until his travel had to lose the kid instead of just preventing Dean ever getting to the skinwalkers in the first place, hmm?" Bobby countered smoothly, unable to keep his smugness from his voice. It might have been a lie, but that wouldn't matter to Castiel, and Crowley knew it. Castiel believed whoever was the smoother talker, whoever made more sense and carried the least blame. He would believe Dean.

There was another pause. Bobby could practically hear Crowley pouting. "Come on, lover, don't play rough with me here," he said. Bobby just grunted and Crowley sighed. "Fine. Alright – it's a stretch, but…"

 

 

"…So, explain it to me again," Dean said, leaning over Bobby's coffee table and concentrating on the other man. The table was piled high with food that, every day, had been laid out, freshly prepared by invisible beings. Castiel's influence.

Bobby's eyes flickered over to the smoke wall, before he cleared his throat. Dean followed the gaze and sighed, shaking his head. No good trying to hide – he needed to know and if there were eyes and ears, well, it didn't matter much anymore, did it?

"Basically Crowley was thinking…" Bobby shrugged, holding his hands out in surrender. "Now, I don't know 'cause I wasn't there, but apparently the creatures don't take kindly to seein' their opposites in close quarters."

Dean's eyes flashed to Sam and he frowned. "You _told_ him?" he snapped, angry that Sam would try and bring up the idea of _using_ the children to try and influence the supernatural creatures of the world through such indirect and sneaky means.

"Swear on my life, I didn't," Sam said, eyes widening and he shook his head. "I promise, Dean, I didn't."

"What? No, boy – listen!" Bobby snapped his fingers, getting Dean's attention again, his patience running thin. "Crowley thinks he has a spell that'll basically…" He hesitated again. "When you're… _pregnant_ ," he grimaced at the word, "we find out what it is, and then put something opposite in it, by summoning something there. They'll kill each other and you'll be out another two species."

Dean frowned, having to take a moment to try and make sense of that, because it didn't make sense. At all. "So…what you're saying is you have a spell that will take souls from Castiel and put them in my body, and we're _hoping_ that they'll conflict and kill each other when the kids haven't even developed yet?" Dean shook his head. "That sounds ridiculous, Bobby. I think Crowley's yankin' our chains. If he had something that powerful, he wouldn't need us to do it."

"I'd also like to point out that this is _Crowley_ ," Sam added uncertainly. "He's screwed _all_ of us over."

"Yeah, but Cas screwed _him_ over," Bobby replied, sitting back in his chair so he was leaning on just the two back legs. "Hell hath no fury and all that." He shrugged. "Worst case scenario – Cas feels mildly ticklish and we have to kill the kid some other way. But if this works, we kill _two_ species _and_ Cas is that much more dejuiced."

Dean winced at Bobby's unfeeling tone towards killing more children. Not that Dean was against it – he _knew_ it was the right thing to do. He knew he _had_ to do it, because it was the best, for all involved.

He just…

It hurt _so_ much.

"Dean?" He was drawn out of his thoughts by Sam looking over at him. His little brother's eyes were dark and wide with concern – Dean had deliberately avoided talking about the children and stuff because Sam kept _looking_ at him like that and it was just painful. "What do you think?"

Dean sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. He leaned forward, his hands on his elbows, and winced at the twinge of his muscles. It was the third day. It would be over soon, and Castiel would come to visit him again. Maybe he'd lift the veil of fog and Dean would get to go outside – hell, even if he could _see_ outside he'd pretty sure he would be thankful. He missed sunlight.

"If this doesn't work, or if Cas gets wise, you're dead," he said, looking between his fingers at Bobby. The old Hunter nodded, pressing his lips together. Dean shook his head. "I can't make that call, Bobby. I can't…I can't sign you over like that. No more than I could do it to Sam. You're like family to me."

"Family sacrifices, Dean," Bobby replied, his voice unusually soft and serious. "I know folks who have done a lot more for you, at a lot less." Dean blinked, feeling tears start to well up behind his eyes, and he looked down, scrubbing his hands over his face again.

"I just want it to be over," he whispered, shaking his head, and dragged his fingers through his hair. He felt Sam's warm palm on his shoulder, and allowed it for a few minutes, before he shrugged it off and got to his feet, wiping a hand over his mouth. "Alright," he whispered, looking over to Bobby and Sam. "You guys…do your thing and I'll…" He gestured vaguely upstairs. "It's almost done now so…"

Sam nodded and stood. "Good luck, Dean," he whispered, pulling Dean into a hug. Honestly, Dean had to fight the urge to burst into hysterical laughter that going upstairs to have sex was like walking into a war zone.

Only with Castiel, it kind of was.

 

 

The black wall of fog greeted Dean when he went into his room, gently closing the door behind him. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, and only opened them when there was the sound of thousands of swords being unsheathed at once. His breath misted in front of him.

He raised his head, staring into Castiel's fathomless blue-black eyes. It was like a kind of calm overcame Dean – like he couldn't be afraid because, even though there were thousands of reasons to be scared, none of them could come to mind. His heartbeat remained slow and steady – his breath didn't come in pants.

He straightened up and Castiel raised his chin towards Dean. There was something…different about him now. Something more…animal-like. Castiel walked towards Dean and the human stayed still, letting Castiel approach him, and turned his head to one side when Castiel nudged his jaw with his nose, and Dean closed his eyes when he felt Castiel's warm breath on the side of his neck, over his slow pulse. Castiel nosed along Dean's neck, inhaling roughly as his hands found Dean's flanks, digging in more harshly than necessary and making Dean hiss.

He coaxed his fingers into Castiel's soft, dark hair, petting through it as Castiel continued to… _scent_ him. "You alright, Cas?" he rasped out, feeling the familiar heat stirring in the pit of his gut. His legs spread out unconsciously, allowing the creature-God to step more closely between them, his chill radiating down to Dean's very core.

"Your _scent_ ," Castiel whispered, his voice rough and low, like it was causing him physical pain to speak, and Dean's eyes opened, watching Castiel out of the corner. "They all clamor for it. For your blood, for your heart and your beauty." Unbidden, a flush rose on Dean's cheeks – he couldn't help it. He knew he should be offended or at least weirded out by Castiel calling him 'beautiful' and talking about a bunch of souls wanting to eat him alive, but that was what he _should_ be feeling and what he _was_ feeling couldn't be more opposite. Heat flooded him at the idea of being wanted so much, of being _desired_ so _completely_ , that it was physical pain to resist…He couldn't help his reaction for that either.

Castiel growled, his nostrils flaring as he buried his nose in Dean's neck, dragging a sharp, unsteady inhale into his lungs. "Cas?" Dean asked, concerned now, "are you okay?"

So many voices, so many _urges_ , and Castiel wanted to sate them all. He wanted to _satisfy,_ to earn the loyalty of all the souls housed inside of him by giving them what they wanted. Through their eyes, he could see the aura of death and beauty around Dean, could smell his fertility and eagerness to bear fruit. He pressed closer, finding the vampire bite still lingering on Dean's neck, now little more than one more scar for him to bear, and reopened the wound. Teeth that were flat and human easily severed the skin and hot, rich blood flowed into his mouth.

Dean trembled, his body tightening up in pain, hands clenching reflexively in Castiel's hair. _"God_ ," he moaned, wincing when the word just made Castiel laugh and bite down harder, until Dean felt like Castiel was going to rip his throat out.

His hands landed, possessive and claiming, on Dean's hip, on the small of his back, driving their bodies more closely together until they were just rutting against the door. Dean winced at every creak. "Cas," he murmured, pressing his jaw against the creature's temple, trying to push him away so they could get on to the important part, "come on, Cas, please."

Castiel growled again, somehow managing to unlock his jaw and let Dean's flesh go. His mouth was caked on the inside with blood and the creatures howled for more of it. He flashed dark, wild eyes up towards Dean's face, before placing a palm over his neck and healing the bite. It was bleeding quite heavily – worse now that Dean's heart was beginning to race – and he didn't want to risk Dean bleeding out.

Castiel's eyes were black. Completely demon black, and Dean had never been more terrified to see such a thing. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes at the feeling of the healing power flowing across his skin, and threaded a hand through Castiel's hair. It felt like feathers. Or fur.

 _Wolf_ , his mind supplied. _The next one will be a wolf._

"I like it when you call me that," Castiel whispered, capturing Dean's attention again as surely as a fly in a web. Dean's breath caught and Castiel smiled, one side crooking up higher than the other, baring his bloody upper teeth.

He surged up, claiming Dean's mouth in a kiss, and Dean's eyes fluttered closed, allowing him in, surrendering to the powerful creature easily – too easily, he would tell himself later, but it _was_ too easy – he _wanted_ for Castiel to be there, and he was, so why shouldn't Dean take advantage of it? Why shouldn't he revel in having the complete, undivided attention of so many, wanting him so much? He wanted it, they wanted him. It seemed like an easy trade.

Heat pooled low in his belly at the first slide of Castiel's blood-slick tongue against his own. Dean could remember smelling the skinwalkers' blood, how he had salivated with the desire to drink down the heady liquid, and even though it was his own, and even though he was no longer bearing vampire spawn, he still wanted it. He remembered the feeling of power and he could _taste_ it in Castiel's mouth and it was such sweet, sweet temptation.

"Can you taste it, Dean?" Castiel's rough growl of a voice snapped Dean back to the here and now, and the human could only mewl softly and clutch at Castiel tighter. He gasped when Castiel drew away from the kiss, just breathing into Dean's mouth, scenting their combined air, and Dean knew he would have blood slicked across his lips from Castiel's kiss. "Do you feel their desire for you? Do you feel mine?"

Dean swallowed again, his eyes going half-lidded, and he nodded, because he did. Castiel's chill body felt wonderful against Dean's overheated one and the Hunter could feel the evidence of Castiel's arousal between his legs. He wanted it. He wanted _more_.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice needy and strung out. He knew how he must sound, his breath coming fast and hard and his heart feeling like it was about to burst from his chest, his legs shamelessly spreading around Castiel's, but he didn't care. He didn't need to justify himself to Castiel. "Please, Castiel," he begged again, leaning down and stealing Castiel's lips for a quick but deep kiss, "I'm ready."

Castiel paused, and moved so there was a little room between him and Dean. His eyes flashed for a moment and Dean held his breath, wondering what Castiel would do.

"You have finished bleeding," Castiel murmured, and Dean nodded, "three days after the loss of our first child."

Dean closed his eyes. His insides still hurt. "Yes," he said, dipping his head a little.

The creature-God's eyes flashed again, white this time, and he growled low in his throat. "No woman, loving towards their spouse or not, would be ready after that short amount of time, Dean. No woman that loved her child would be ready after three days." He slammed Dean back against the door, hard enough that the wood cracked, and caught Dean's neck in a tight grip, pinning them there with his power. Dean choked, feeling like he couldn't breathe, but he couldn't claw Castiel's hands away because of the way he was pinned. "Tell me, Dean," Castiel whispered, his voice gaining octaves as the creatures inside of him joined in their angry voices, "how it came to be that you sought out your child's enemy, and fired too much, and were sloppy – sloppy enough to get you hurt had the demon not come along anyway?"

Dean's eyes widened, and then he closed them. Damn it. He'd just done the equivalent of Castiel making the Superman reference. Damn it.

Castiel snarled when Dean remained silent. " _Traitor_ ," he whispered, making that word sound like the dirtiest, worst thing Dean could ever be. Dean's eyes flew open when he was abruptly turned around, slammed face-first against the door with Castiel suddenly right behind him. "Do you know what happens when traitors turn their backs on Angels, Dean?"

Dean shut his eyes, and shook his head.

"We rip their wings off," the creature-God finished with a snarl, his hands tearing at Dean's clothes until the human was bare, with only shreds of clothing stubbornly clinging onto his arms and pooling around his ankles, so he was hobbled and shivering. "Right at the base – we dig in with our Graces and pull them out by the root, like weeds, because the wings of a treacherous Angel are weeds among roses."

A moment later Castiel's clothes were gone too – Dean could feel Castiel's icy skin against his ass and the backs of his thighs, and he grit his teeth, bracing himself because Castiel was pissed and he had no idea what the creature-God might do.

"That's what they did to me," Castiel growled, baring his teeth against Dean's shoulder, his hands slowing down very suddenly. They curved forward, across Dean's flanks, and cupped his hipbones from behind. Bright blue eyes fluttered closed in pleasure as Castiel rocked Dean back against him, breathing raggedly against the Hunter's tanned, sweaty skin. "For you – I endured that for you."

There was still a little amount of blood around Dean's entrance, but the main flow had stopped, and Dean wasn't getting wet – no, he was too fucking terrified for that. His heartbeat pounded against Castiel's cheek, too-fast and afraid.

Castiel chuckled, licking under Dean's shoulder blade, where his wings would be were he an Angel, and he moved one hand, stroking against Dean's entrance with one dry fingertip, before dipping in. His Queen needed to accept him in or the children wouldn't be as strong.

"You have turned your back on me again," he whispered, pushing in all the way with one dry finger, causing Dean to hiss and clench down on him, trying to force him back out, without success. Castiel licked at his shoulder blade again, scraping his teeth across the jut of bone. "But I am a forgiving God."

Dean choked on a sob, shaking his head and resting his forehead against the door, squeezing his eyes tightly shut against the pain. He just wanted it to be over – _God_ , did he want that. Castiel's finger grazed that spot inside of him and he gasped, stiffening a little, rocking back onto Castiel's finger desperately, to get that again, and he blushed when he felt slick start to coat Castiel's finger, making the going a lot easier.

"There," Castiel whispered, leaning up more and pressing a kiss to the back of Dean's sweaty neck. "There we go. Isn't that better, Dean?" He chuckled, pressing the side of his face to the dip of Dean's spine. "Isn't it better when you just accept me? Just give me what I ask for? I don't think I ask for much now – nor have I ever."

Dean shook his head again, pressing his lips together and biting them harshly to try and stop the tears building up and overflowing. He clenched his eyes tightly shut, moving his hands to brace himself against the door.

"Cas," he whispered, entire body tense and shaking, "please."

"And yet he asks again," Castiel commented lightly, chuckling to himself.

 _On his knees,_ the voices whispered.

_I want to see. His wings. Show me his wings._

Simple souls. Dean didn't have any. But the dogs were demanding for Dean to be on his hands and knees, to take his cock and his seed and swell up like a bitch full of puppies, and Castiel thought that idea was quite attractive.

He added another finger inside of Dean, stretching him out as much as he could, and Dean shuddered when, every other thrust in, Castiel deliberately grazed his prostate, stroking against the tiny gland to elicit such sweet, pained sounds and such delicious tremors down Dean's back.

Finally, he pulled his hand roughly away and took Dean's shoulder, the one that had been marked by his hand oh-so long ago. "Kneel, Dean," Castiel growled, taking note of Dean's tear-streaked face. The scent of salt and sweat permeated the air, adding to the blood, to the scent of fertility, and it made Castiel's mouth water.

Dean obeyed slowly, sinking to his knees in front of Castiel but refusing to meet his eyes, his gaze focused stoically downward, until Castiel crouched down and took Dean's chin in hand, forcing their eyes to meet.

For a long while he just searched Dean's face, his black, abyssal eyes taking in every detail, every emotion that flashed across the Hunter's emotive jade eyes, and then he smiled, leaning in again and pressing their lips together. Dean opened to him once more, the taste of his tears on his lips and Castiel eagerly drank, soaking up his sorrow and need like it was the nectar of life.

"You will learn to love them," Castiel whispered into Dean's ear, stroking a hand through the trembling human's hair. "Because they already love you – they adore you, Dean, just as I do. They would do anything for you, just as I would." He sighed, nipping affectionately at Dean's earlobe. "They are far more powerful than you, just as I am." Dean tensed up, eyes flashing towards Castiel. "Remember that."

He swallowed, and nodded.

"Swear it to me, this time," Castiel demanded softly, a smile curving his lips again. Dean's eyes widened. "Swear to protect our children with all that you are, all that you have. Or I will take my gifts elsewhere."

Dean swallowed, breaking Castiel's gaze and looking around the room – searching for a way out. But there was none. Nothing but Castiel's way. He looked back towards the deity.

"If I do," he began slowly, watching how Castiel's eyes flashed with impatience, "will you let us out? Will you get rid of the smoke screen?"

"And why would I do that?" Castiel asked with a laugh.

"We _have_ to go outside, Cas," Dean insisted, shifting a little because the hard wooden floors were starting to make his knees ache. "You can't keep us in here forever." Castiel raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. "Okay, so you can," Dean amended with a roll of his eyes, "but you shouldn't and any real God would know that."

Castiel snorted and shook his head, before turning Dean by the shoulders so he ended up having to catch himself on the floor with his hands, facing away from Castiel. The human shivered, dipping his shoulders and spreading his legs, knowing this was what Castiel intended, and braced himself for the feel of Castiel's icy presence to penetrate him. He didn't think he even had the energy to fight anymore.

"I am better than God," the creature whispered, kneeling behind Dean on the floor and leaning down, mouthing at the sensitive dip in the Hunter's spine. "And do you know why?" Dean shook his head and Castiel chuckled again. He spat onto his hand, slicking up his cock with a low groan – he could smell Dean's pheromones, knew the human was ready for him no matter how conflicted Dean was on the inside. He knelt up, hands framing the bottom of Dean's ribs, and guided himself into the Hunter smoothly, meeting hardly any resistance inside of Dean's tight, welcoming body.

Twin groans were rung from both of them when Castiel bottomed out, Castiel draping himself over Dean's back and forcing him to bear both their weights as he rolled his hips, trying to get just that little bit deeper and Dean shuddered, dipping his head. "God requires belief," Castiel whispered softly against the smooth skin of Dean's back, running his hands down Dean's flanks and cupping his hips again so that he could force Dean back, further, onto his cock, as deep as he could get inside of the Hunter. "That is why God created the Angels – unchanging, unwavering, always totally believing, and totally loyal." He spat the last word. "But then he got greedy. He wanted humans too, and so he created Lucifer, who would rebel and plant the idea of God in a human's heart for all eternity." He pulled back, making Dean gasp at the sudden movement, and then slammed forward almost brutally, loving the way Dean tensed and tightened against the pain of such a jarring thrust. "He went by other names, other guises – Allah, Yahweh, Odin, Zeus, all the same – always King. He knew how much of a short attention span humans had for that sort of thing. Well." Castiel chuckled darkly, rocking out and thrusting back in again, gentler this time, striking Dean's prostate dead-on, making the Hunter shudder and whine in pleasure. "I don't need that – I don't need the belief. The _knowledge_ is enough, the existence of the things that I – that _we_ – shall create…that will be enough."

"Cas…" Dean choked when Castiel drove into him again, feeling like every breath of air he gained was being forced out of him – he felt tired, so unbelievably tired, and freezing cold, and _sore_ , _fuck_ this hurt. "It won't," he said with dreadful certainty. "It won't be enough."

Castiel snarled against Dean's back, baring his teeth against the skin but not biting down. Dean's body was becoming slick with sweat, pheromones and the scent of blood encasing every lungful of air. Castiel greedily took it all, took it because he needed it. _They_ needed it.

"Swear your protection, Dean," Castiel whispered, demanding, into Dean's ear. The Hunter shuddered, feeling the coil of Castiel's power deep in his gut, like the creature was talking him with his True Voice, if he still even had one. "Swear it, and maybe you will finally understand."

Dean shuddered, closing his eyes. He knew he had no choice – if he didn't, Castiel would force some poor, innocent civilian to take his place; just some guy with the wrong bloodline at the wrong time. He shook his head, swallowing, and turned his head so he could see Castiel.

"I swear," he said, hoping that to Castiel his voice didn't shake as much as he thought it did.

The deity bared his teeth in a victorious smirk, and leaned down, sealing their deal with a kiss.  



	12. Now You Get To Watch 'Em Leave Out The Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  Dean woke up feeling sorer than he usually did. His entire lower body twinged, but also felt numb at the same time. His eyes fluttered open further, staring at the depressing brown wall of Bobby's house. The silhouette of the window was there and Dean's eyes widened when he realized that that was because actual sunlight was filtering through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Dean woke up feeling sorer than he usually did. His entire lower body twinged, but also felt numb at the same time. His eyes fluttered open further, staring at the depressing brown wall of Bobby's house. The silhouette of the window was there and Dean's eyes widened when he realized that that was because actual sunlight was filtering through. There was still smoke, grey trails of it curling around the silhouette, but there was actual sunlight, bathing a warm square on the brown wall, and it caused a tiny thread of optimism to start in Dean's chest.

But he still hurt. And he was freezing. Grimacing, Dean tried to shift, to maybe get more comfortable, and that was when he realized that he wasn't alone.

Hands came forward, wrapping around his stomach and pulling him back against a cold, naked chest. Dean shivered when his sleep-warm skin came into contact with Castiel's chill, able to feel the deity's breath on the back of his neck. He shifted slightly, turning, and hissed when that caused a painful tug on his ass.

"Be still, Dean," came Castiel's raspy growl, his hands turning the Hunter back to face out. Dean hated it, hated that he couldn't see Castiel's face, but he went because he had no choice in the matter. "I am still tied to you. It shall fade soon enough."

There was too much vulnerability here, not being able to see or read the creature behind him – Dean had to go off nuances in Castiel's monotone voice. "What do you mean?" he asked, shifting back slightly. He was aware of a great pressure inside of him – almost uncomfortable, actually, and his ass hurt more than he would care to admit. More than it usually did.

"You fell asleep," Castiel whispered, pressing his face to the back of Dean's neck and Dean sighed, closing his eyes, and nodded. He remembered – he remembered swearing to Castiel, to protect the children (and God, what the hell was he going to do about _that_?) and then losing himself to the mindless pleasure, the empty, raw _need_ of Castiel fucking him. He'd come twice with Castiel filling him up, growling something in an unintelligible language into his ear, and then there was darkness, Dean's body too strung out, too tired, and he'd eventually just fallen into exhaustion.

"You stayed all night?" Dean whispered, unable to tell if he was a little creeped out that obviously Castiel had had no problem continuing to have sex with him while he was asleep, or overjoyed at the idea that Castiel had actually _stayed_. He was still _here_.

The Hunter turned his head again, able to just see Castiel's face out of the corner of his eye. The deity propped his head up, one hand disappearing from Dean's hip to support him. "Yes," he said, eyes deep and blue for the first time that Dean could remember in what felt like a long time. Hope fluttered, wary and bright, in his chest. "Removing the knot before it had receded would have been painful for you, and have caused an unnecessary amount of damage."

Dean winced at the 'unnecessary' part, but his eyes widened when he fully took in the rest of it. "You…knotted me?" he asked, incredulously. Sensory memory flashed over him – the feeling of fur between his fingers; a low, animal-like growl; the casual, canine affection of Castiel pressing his face against Dean's, or scenting his neck, or licking or biting him. "It's gonna be canine, isn't it? Some supernatural dog?" It made sense – after all, the wraith had had a spike. The vampire had bitten. At least Castiel hadn't bitten him fully – who knew what kind of transformation would incur in Dean's body from a werewolf or skinwalker's bite.

The corner of Castiel's mouth quirked up in a smile – it was so like the Angel from _before,_ the one who was _frightened_ by sex and who had never been in a car before and never tasted the first drop of bitter alcohol, that Dean had to bite his lip to keep the tears back. Castiel mistook his anguish for joy over having conceived, and his smile grew, and he leaned down to nuzzle against Dean's slow pulse.

"I have filled you many times," he whispered, his other hand still cold and large over Dean's pale stomach. Dean imagined Castiel could probably feel the knot if he pressed hard enough or in the right way. "There is no doubt now that you now carry new life inside of you. New life that you shall protect."

Dean felt the power in those words – his stomach tensed and his heart pumped madly, twice. "Yes," he replied, feeling like he was choking. He turned his face away, baring more of his throat for the creature. One hand, though, he couldn't stop from reaching back, tangling in Castiel's thick, knotted hair. He paused. There was an urge inside of him – a compulsion, and Dean knew he should fight it because any kind of _compulsion_ usually ended badly for him, but he _couldn't_. God help him, he couldn't. "How can I hide this?" he whispered, turning again so he could look back at Castiel. The pressure inside of him felt like it was fading – maybe he was getting used to it or maybe the knot was shrinking, he didn't know. "I don't know how to…how to lie to Sam and Bobby about this."

Castiel made a curious sound. "Why would you lie?" he whispered.

 _Stop talking_ , Dean commanded himself, knowing that this was bad. The tension in Castiel's voice could not be ignored – the subtly violent way that his nails dug into Dean's soft, empty stomach. _Stop talking stop talking stop –_ "They will want to kill the kid," he whispered, cursing himself internally, but _fuck it_ , it was his _kid's life here_.

It was Ben. It was Sammy.

Dean flinched a little at Castiel's growl, the deity's hips jerking back as he tried to dislodge himself from Dean's body, but the knot was still too big for him to slide out and Dean whined, reaching back to clutch at the creature to stop him moving any further. "Please, Cas -." He was cut off when Castiel stopped moving. The creature's rough breath was cold and harsh against Dean's exposed throat.

"…If they lay one hand on you," Castiel murmured, his voice carrying octaves with all the dreadful certainty of a vow, of a prayer, "then I will lay them both to waste. I shall show them the true meaning of Hell." There was a snarl on the tail-end of his voice, baring sharp, backward-facing teeth against the flexing tendon in Dean's neck, pressing down just enough that his skin was nicked. "I shall rip them apart and make them feel every second as though it lasts a thousand years. I will bathe your wounds in their blood."

"Cas," _Yes,_ a voice whispered inside of him. Dean turned around, fisting Castiel's hair more tightly. "No," he replied, begging – Castiel couldn't hurt them, please, God, don't let him hurt them. "I'll…I'll think of something," he said quickly, desperately, half-formed ideas coming up in his head; something, anything, to fool them. "They don't have to know. I'll protect it, you know I will."

Castiel growled again, and for a terrifying moment Dean thought he would disappear and rip Sam and Bobby apart anyway, just to eliminate the threat entirely so that Dean could be safe and pregnant on his own. "Please," Dean whispered, begging because he had no room for dignity and pride with someone who didn't care for either thing. Castiel's bright blue eyes flashed to Dean's face. "You don't need to hurt them. I'll take care of it. I'll protect the kids."

He hoped Castiel could read everything he couldn't say. _Don't take anyone else away from me. Don't leave me alone._ The creature's lips pursed, his eyes narrowed and calculating as he searched Dean's face, before he acquiesced with a soft sigh, letting his forehead drop to Dean's shoulder. At that, Dean was abruptly aware of the pressure inside of him completely disappearing, and Castiel pulled out of him with a wet sound. Dean winced at the feeling of come and his own unnaturally conjured slick, leaking out of him and sticking to his thighs. He resisted the urge to automatically go take a shower – Castiel was sure he had conceived, but his body burned with the need to be sure.

Castiel returned to him on the bed, fully clothes again, and leaned down, brushing Dean's hair from his face and placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "My beloved, gentle mate," he whispered, nuzzling against Dean's sweaty temple, and Dean felt himself blush at the soft words, the awe-filled tone they were spoken in, "I have left my guardian here for you. Until the child is strong enough, you will not be allowed outside. But you will be able to see it." A pause. "Thank me for my kindness, Dean."

The part of Dean that wasn't currently under the warm-happy-glow of Castiel's influence rebelled at that – he shouldn't be thanking Castiel for jack _shit_ , but his brain and his mouth weren't connected at that point. Dean sat up, propping himself on one arm, and caught Castiel's cheek in the other, drawing him down for a kiss. It would have been sweet if sweetness had fangs and tasted like poison.

"Thank you, Castiel," he whispered against the creature's mouth, voice low and rough with sincerity and emotion. Castiel's pleased smile made Dean flush warm in pleasure.

"I shall return to you when the time is right," Castiel whispered, leaning down again to steal another taste of warmth and spices, before he moved to the half-shadowed window. There was no sound of his wings unsheathing and Dean wondered why that was – but he couldn't wonder for long, because his brain was getting fuzzy with sleep, as though Castiel's kiss had drugged him, and he laid back down on the bed, snuffling into the scent of blood and ash that marked Castiel's place on it, and closed his eyes in time for Castiel to open his bedroom window and slip outside.

 

 

Something had happened. Something had…changed. The Angel of Incarnation, through his nature, could feel the birth of every living and non-living creature into the world. Similarly, the Angel of Death could sense every little dark patch, the light of a soul snuffed out.

He felt it when Castiel laid with Dean, bright light flaring up in the Hunter's body as the souls poured from what had once been Gabriel's little brother and into Dean Winchester's body. The flux had been larger this time, more pouring into Dean than there had been before. Castiel still shone incredibly brightly, but it was more…chaotic. More entropy inside of him with less control for it.

The smoke had receded slightly – Gabriel retracting his hands so that he sat as a great, silent statue of smoke, by Bobby Singer's household. He watched with glowing eyes as Castiel – the creature that had once been Castiel – slip from Dean's window like a high school boy sneaking out of his girlfriend's bedroom while her parents were home.

Castiel looked up at Gabriel, his eyes flashing for a moment but remaining their normal blue. They glowed in the light of the morning sun. "Is it…?" He paused, cocking his head to one side as he awaited an answer.

Gabriel nodded his great head. The glow of his Grace inside of him had gotten brighter, had begun to fill the dark core of him with something a little lighter, making the smoke more grey – it was another reason why it seemed like the smoke was less thick. Because it was. Slowly, somehow, Gabriel was being brought back and he didn't know why, but frankly he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He was right in the thick of things without any of the danger and he was alright with that.

"There is life growing inside of him," he replied somberly, and Castiel nodded. He looked almost relieved and Gabriel made a curious sound. "What's wrong, little brother?"

Castiel's mouth twisted, and he pressed a hand to his chest. "I don't know…I…I couldn't tell," he confessed, sounding frustrated and confused. "Dean Winchester is mine," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else, "but, at the same time, I feel like he no longer is. Like the more he falls under my influence, the more he is rebelling." Bright, uncomprehending blue eyes looked up at the smoke Angel. "I don't understand."

"Be not afraid," Gabriel whispered, lowering a hand and brushing one giant finger down the side of Castiel's face. "It is because you are changing him, Castiel. Soon, the qualities you admired about him will be gone and it will be your doing." He paused. "Turn back now – right your wrongs. It's not too late."

Castiel snarled at him. "It is too late!" he yelled, baring his teeth and flinching away from Gabriel's comforting touch. "For the sake of our Father, it is too late! I cannot fly." He paused, looking down at his hands that were clenched tightly into fists. He uncurled them, fingers twitching as he did so. "I cannot fly," he repeated, eyes widening, and he shook his head. "No."

"Cas -."

"Remiel," the deity whispered, cutting Gabriel's words off. The Angel of hope, a Watcher. "Remiel!" He had been one for Raphael – on the side of the defeated Archangel. He would do nicely. "Remiel!" One more time, and the thunder of Castiel's voice shook the Earth. Castiel's fists clenched, summoning his blade.

There was nothing.

"Castiel." The creature turned, finding Remiel watching him with a confused expression. The Angel's face was beatific to say the least, framed by golden hair. His eyes were bright blue and glowed with Grace and Castiel licked his lips hungrily. "How the mighty have fallen," the Angel sneered.

"Bite your tongue," Castiel replied with a growl, taking a step forward. He didn't need his blade to rip the son of a bitch to pieces. Remiel was strong but he was not a seasoned soldier like Castiel had once been. And he did not know how to fight on a human plane.

"Look at you!" Remiel replied, meeting Castiel stride for stride. "Where are your wings? Where is the thing that made you even remotely one of us?" He sneered, hate and malice dripping from his every word, written into the curve of his full upper lip and the pretty light of his eyes. Castiel could smell the ozone of his Grace when his blade manifested itself. "Now look at you. _Nothing_."

The Angel moved to stab Castiel, but the creature was faster – faster, stronger, _better_ , in every way. He grabbed Remiel's wrist and twisted it, closing his hand around the business end of the blade and ripping it out of Remiel's grasp. The scent of blood exploded across his senses and the souls inside of him rose up and howled in victory.

Without wasting a moment, he plunged the knife into Remiel's chest. The Angel's eyes opened wide and his mouth parted in a scream, and Castiel knotted one hand in the Angel's hair, sealing their lips together so he could swallow the Angel's fleeing Grace. It burned, going down his throat, but the burn was so good, like whiskey or the first slide into a person – blood pulsed, hot and wet and fresh, down his arm, slicking his fingers and coating his skin. Lust spiked inside of him as he swallowed what made Remiel an Angel down into himself, and when the light was gone there were no wings burned into the ground by Castiel's fallen brother's dead body. Because they were on the deity now.

Castiel rolled his shoulders, closing his eyes when he felt his wings unfurl. Already they were growing heavier, slowly coating themselves in metal harder than any element known to man, and he bared his teeth in a snarl. Blood lust and hunger rose up in him, seeing the dead man's body and all his blood, and he knelt down, prepared to consume the rest of him.

He paused, looking up and scenting the air. There were eyes on him. With a snarl, he covered his kill in his giant wings, metal glinting harshly in the sunlight, and disappeared.

 

 

_"I cannot fly! I cannot fly!"_

Dean had stirred to the sound of Castiel's agonized cries, forcing himself from the bed and for his tired, sore limbs to bring him to the window. He got there in time to see Castiel stab what Dean could only assume to be an Angel, sealing his mouth over the creature's fleeing Grace. Dean's eyes widened on seeing it – the white light passing between the two creatures, the pulse of blood that stained Castiel's clothes and the fierce hunger burning in his eyes when he fell to his knees over the fallen Angel.

"Holy -." Dean covered his mouth when Castiel's head snapped up, nostrils flaring, and then they both disappeared. Dean hurried to the bathroom, feeling nauseous, and bent over the sink, trying to breathe deeply and figure out what the hell he'd just seen.

He knew Castiel had been killing Angels. He just hadn't realized that…that he was…

What was he doing?

 _Eating_ them?

So many images of supernatural monsters flashed across the backs of his eyes – the gross crunch of bone in a ghoul's mouth or the snap of a neck in a werewolf's jaws. The bite of a vampire – _God_ , he remembered that one. The feel of a wraith spike or the touch of a Djinn's tongue.

Castiel was no better.

 _Fuck_ , Dean thought, bracing himself on the sink as another wave of nausea rolled through him. _Fuck, what the hell am I meant to do now?_

…He had to lie. He had to pretend like he hadn't conceived – should be easy enough for the first couple of weeks…hopefully. Dean bit his lip, pressing a hand against his stomach, remembering that Castiel had actually cut the time of his pregnancy by more than half. He would only have to keep the kid safe for three months, keep Sam or Bobby from hurting it, and just the thought of killing the child sent all sorts of unbearable agony through his mind – he felt like he was getting stabbed, just thinking about ending one more child's life.

Not just for himself anymore, too. If he lost another, then Sam and Bobby would pay the price, and Dean couldn't let them do that. He couldn't. He wouldn't lose another person to his own selfish desires. Not again.

 

 

Gabriel watched his brother fall, and then Castiel disappearing with the carcass. The Angel of Death had felt that light go out, but it hadn't…gone, completely. It was strange. It had almost looked like when Castiel had laid with Dean – the influx of brightness and power into Castiel had been beautiful, but decidedly… _off_.

Sighing, Gabriel looked through Dean's bedroom window, able to hear the Hunter's harsh breathing and smell his distress. He shifted again, prepared to settle down and wait.

"I think," he murmured to himself, looking around at the desolation of Bobby's junkyard, "that you and I are gonna need to talk soon, Dean-o."  



	13.  But You Promised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  His mind was racing; he had no doubt now that he was pregnant, otherwise Castiel wouldn't have left. Or if he had, he would have been back by now – it was the evening of the second day. If Dean hadn't conceived, he would start bleeding again. ****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. 

Dean stared out of the window of his room, lost in thought.

His mind was racing; he had no doubt now that he was pregnant, otherwise Castiel wouldn't have left. Or if he had, he would have been back by now – it was the evening of the second day. If Dean hadn't conceived, he would start bleeding again.

The trick would be hiding it from Bobby and Sam. So far he'd managed to play it off as his usual angst; he thought he was justified in being even more withdrawn and snappy than usual and so he hadn't been getting much grief from that side. In truth, they were all waiting; waiting for the heads-or-tails decision, on Dean's pregnancy so that they could try the spell.

Thinking of trying to kill the child sent a huge wave of nausea through Dean, so strong he was left gasping and clammy, and he hurriedly wiped at his forehead before pressing his hand to his stomach. No. He couldn't get rid of the child – not this time. Never mind what he'd sworn to Castiel, or his own body's desires; if he lost this kid, Cas would be out for blood. Whether it was Sam and Bobby, or a supernatural creature, or just a badly placed hole in the ground, Castiel would lay the whole Earth to waste and Dean didn't doubt that for a second.

_'I will bathe your wounds in their blood_.' Dean ignored the small shiver that crept through him, remembering Castiel's vow – he ignored the amount of saliva that flooded his mouth at the thought of blood or how his body got hot all over. God, it was worse than when he had been pregnant with a fucking vampire, and almost twice as strong.

Dean sighed, pressing his forehead against the windowsill. He imagined, if he closed his eyes and tried hard enough, that he could smell Castiel's scent still lingering there, despite how unbelievably sappy it made him.

He lifted his head again, staring out over the junkyard and to the Impala, then further towards the open road. How badly he wanted to drive; usually, when stuff would just pile up on him like this, he would open his baby up and let her fly and just let all his troubles get blown away by the wind, but that wasn't an option here.

He sighed again, and went back to thinking.

He would have to hide this from Sam and Bobby, for as long as necessary. It shouldn't be too much of a problem until he started 'showing', provided that morning sickness didn't hit him too badly – he didn't think it would. Most of his nausea was caused by thinking about killing the kid, so as long as he didn't think about it ( _because he wouldn't let it happen),_ he was fine.

He could cut his arm and smear blood along his bed sheets to mimic his 'period' if necessary. And wear more of the pads and smear those with blood too, just in case Sam and Bobby were that paranoid and that nosey. He could wear his bigger shirts to hide the bulge until hiding wasn't an option anymore.

Then what? Did the spell require his physical presence? If so, he could run. But where would he go?

Dean pressed his lips together, raising his head as the smells of fresh bacon and toast wafted up towards him, and though his stomach rolled in uneasiness, he went down the stairs into Bobby's living room. The books had been put away, now that there was a plan, and Dean swallowed, steeling himself for another tense, awkward meal between the three men.

He sat down to a plate piled high with food and sent Sam a wan, grateful smile. He was glad that Sam connected his hunger to the almost constant blood loss, and not the pregnancy. It meant he might be able to get away with feeding two until it became obvious that he _was_ feeding two. "How do you feel?" Sam asked softly, like speaking too loudly wasn't allowed.

Dean rolled his eyes, sighing, and bit into his toast. "Well, if this one worked, it's definitely a wolf," he said, figuring he may as well try and play the part of 'telling you all I know' while still retaining everything he had. Sam raised a brow and Dean blanched, stifling the sharp flare of heat in his gut when he thought about how Castiel had knotted him, had tied them together for the whole night and _Dean_ had gone and fucking fallen asleep so he couldn't even enjoy any of it. "Really, Sammy, I think it's best you don't know. It's just…a dog, of some kind. If it worked," he added, feeling like he needed to stress that part.

Bobby jerked his head towards his window. "Sure is nice to get sunlight in here," he remarked, and Dean didn't know if he was changing the subject or if he hadn't been listening at all – which would be weird because Bobby was _always_ listening – before the phone rang. Bobby stood up and went to go answer and Dean watched him with wide eyes. "Yeah?" the gruff Hunter asked, frowning down the phone.

There was a pause while someone on the other end talked, and then Bobby grunted and raised an eyebrow, before holding the phone out to Dean. "'S yer 'protector'," he muttered, shaking his head, and Dean swallowed. Crowley. He _really_ didn't want to talk to the demon.

Dean took the phone and sat down on Bobby's desk, trying his best to remain aloof and calm while he talked to the demon. "Crowley? What do you want?" he snapped, putting forward his hostility so that maybe the demon would cut things short.

Fat chance of that – Crowley _lived_ to ruffle Dean's feathers, the Hunter was sure of it. "A little birdie told me that the new deity in town might be a father pretty soon," he sing-songed, and Dean tensed up, just barely managing to stifle his growl at the thought of this _creature_ trying to hurt his child. This _demon taint_.

He blinked. Where had that thought come from?

"Oh?" he asked, picking at his nails absently and resisted the urge to rub at his stomach, which would give the game away to Sam and Bobby.

Crowley hummed in agreement. "Yeah. Problem, love, is that I can't really see into the new God's little homestead. Pretty heavily warded, if you ask me. Kind of makes me wonder what's going on in there." A pause. "Are you and Sam finally throwing caution to the wind and having the incredibly taboo but undeniably overdue incestuous sex that everyone's so certain you're already having?"

Dean grimaced at that. Figures Crowley would make a gay joke. He bit his lip, flashing eyes over at Bobby and Sam, who were watching him with curious, cautious eyes.

He had to play this carefully, here.

"Castiel's got more than just you watchin' us," he finally settled on, straightening slightly. "And he doesn't want you here, after what happened last time." He smirked at Crowley's low growl. "Hey, way I see it is this is your 'Get out of jail free' card. I'd use it."

"I don't like being kept out of the loop, Dean-o." Crowley's voice was tight and controlled.

Dean felt feral with the power that that one sentence gave him. It felt like a heady rush right to his brain. "Get used to disappointment," he snapped, then hung up and walked away from the phone, back to his rapidly cooling food. "Crowley can't see us," he said, knowing that Sam and Bobby were still watching him for answers.

Sam sat back, brow furrowed. "You think Cas knows?" he asked, lowering his voice. "About the, you know…the plan?"

Dean paused, food mid-way to his mouth, and hesitated around the lie. Then, he swallowed. "No," he replied, taking a bite out of his toast again. The queasy feeling was coming back; Dean rubbed his stomach and passed it off as pain, and judging by Sam's concerned face, he succeeded. "How could Cas find out about the plan?" Dean asked again, shrugging. "No, he probably just doesn't want a repeat of what happened last time."

Bobby nodded, seeming to accept that reply. Dean stood up, then, rubbing his stomach again. "I'm going to go take some more pain meds. I tell ya, man, I have a newfound respect for girls." Sam smiled thinly at him as Dean walked away with a wave to Bobby, heading back upstairs. He felt like he could sleep for a century.

The silence lasted for almost two minutes before Sam spoke; "He's hiding something from us," he said, frowning over at Bobby, then the open window.

The older Hunter nodded. "Yeah, but to be honest sometimes I can't tell if he's hiding that he jacked off this mornin' or if he just killed someone as is hiding them in his room. All the secrets are the same with you boys." He gestured vaguely.

Sam's brow furrowed further. "I'm just worried, Bobby," he said defensively. "We can't afford to keep secrets. Not at a time like this."

Bobby raised a brow, but said nothing. He didn't need to; Sam knew what he was thinking. He was guilty of the same things – keeping secrets that should never have been kept. But he had _learned_ from his mistakes and wasn't ready to let Dean make the same ones. The stakes were too high.

He'd talk to Dean again when he came back down. For now, there was nothing more to do than just sit around and wait for tomorrow.

  
  
  
  


Dean fell asleep in a cold sweat, a growing sense of dread curling in his gut. He pressed his palm to his stomach, biting his lip and pulling the blankets more tightly around himself.

He was in a dark glade – shadows were everywhere, the night so think that Dean couldn't tell what were the trees and what was beyond that. In the space between one of them, a pair of glowing blue eyes watched him unblinkingly. Dean shivered, putting his eyes on the creature, and reached behind him to where he usually kept his gun. The being snarled, baring white, serrated, back-ward facing teeth, and with the snarl was a high-pitched whine, louder and more painful than anything that Dean had ever heard, except for when Castiel had tried to talk to him out of vessel. Dean fell to his knees, his hands covering his bleeding ears, and braced for the creature to attack him.

It didn't. The noise stopped and Dean looked up to find the creature standing right in front of him, staring Dean down with a penetrating blue gaze that Dean was used to from something a little more…human. Dean gasped when the giant creature blinked, baring its teeth again, eyes flashing white.

The white of its eyes illuminated the glade. Dean could see the trees and – he blanched – he realized that he wasn't kneeling in soft grass at all, but thousands and thousands of tiny maggots. They kept trying to crawl up his skin, latching onto his jeans and his arms and trying to wriggle into his body. He swept them all off, getting to his feet and crushing them underfoot.

The creature smiled. Light poured from its mouth. _"I won_ ," it said, in a voice that rang like cathedral bells and rocked Dean down to his very core. The creature looked down, glowing teeth illuminating more of the maggots, which seemed to screech and burrow underground at the light. _"They didn't. I won."_

Dean took a look at the creature. It had the face of a wolf; that much was certain, but its eyes were human. Its voice was one Dean thought he could almost recognize if it would speak more. There was just something about the way it said 'I won', something that rung in Dean, that gave him the sense of déjà vu.

The creature looked back at him and Dean shielded his eyes from the light emanating from its mouth. It closed its jaws, casting the glade into darkness again aside from its eyes, and then ducked its head. There was the soft crunch of feet over gravel as it loped away. "Wait!" Dean cried, trying to run after it, but he couldn't see, so he couldn't chase. "What did you win? Come back!"

"Dean."

The Hunter whipped around, and froze.

" _Gabriel_?" he whispered, hardly daring to believe.

The dead Archangel-turned-Pagan-God-turned-Archangel smiled a little sheepishly, holding up his hand and wiggling a few fingers in an awkward greeting. Dean's eyes widened. "I'm dreaming, aren't I? You're not really here."

Gabriel shrugged, cocking his head to one side. "Yes and No. You _are_ dreaming, but I'm also most _certainly_ here."

Gabriel looked…like shit, to put it plainly. He still bore the bloodstain from where Lucifer had stabbed him, staining his clothes, and Dean ignored the excess of saliva that flooded his mouth, _hunger_ at the scent of the Angel's blood overriding every other thought. He smelled of ozone and Grace, but only very faintly.

Dean took a step forward and Gabriel let him. "What are…?" He trailed off, shaking his head; what could he say?

"We need to talk," Gabriel said, stepping forward and clasping his hands together. His eyes flashed to one side and Dean saw the blue glowing eyes watching him. " _Alone_." The Archangel hissed the word and the eyes blinked out. "We don't have much time," Gabriel said, looking back at Dean, "if he senses me here he'll drive me out and send me away again."

"Here?" Dean repeated, frowning; he knew the whole 'time is of the essence' speech and, really, he appreciated it, but sometimes basic things needed to be covered.

Gabriel gestured vaguely around him. "Your psyche – yours and Castiel's shared plain. The maggots, the wolf, the trees. Just think about it – I don't have time to explain." He cut himself off irritably, slashing a hand through the air. "Basically, you know that smoke screen? Well, that's kind of me. I can't really manifest yet, but I'm getting there. I don't know how, or why, but I am."

Dean's brow furrowed in confusion. "What -?"

" _Listen_ ," Gabriel hissed, silencing Dean. "I don't know what the _fuck_ happened to make the whole world _and my little brother_ go to shit, but _we're_ going to fix it, you hear me?"

"I'm _trying_ to fix it," Dean growled, stepping closer to the agitated Archangel.

Gabriel snorted. "By just rolling over like some little _bitch_ -?" The words were cut off by a low growl ringing through the glade. Dean froze, a chill running down his spine, and looked over his shoulder. There was nothing to see, but that didn't mean nothing was watching them. Gabriel pulled him closer. "Listen, I know you think that what you're doing is working, but Castiel is losing his Goddamn _mind_."

"I think he's already lost it," Dean confessed, closing his eyes in sorrow, and shook his head. "I…I saw him eat that Angel." Gabriel's eyes widened. "Just…I knew he was killing but I didn't know he was…" Gabriel's lips were a thin line. "What does he _want_ them for?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Flesh. Blood. Grace. Anything he's using, anything he needs to feed _them_." Gabriel paused. "You know the feeling of it inside you, don't you Dean? The fullness, the _need_ for blood or food, anything to satisfy it, right?" Dean swallowed, because he did. "Imagine that multiplied by a million, and you _might_ come close to what Castiel is feeling. All those wayward desires and _needs_ , it can blind you to the need of the whole, the collective."

The growl came again, this time louder, and the eyes were back. This time there were two pairs of them. Gabriel swallowed and stepped back. "I shall leave you, Dean," he whispered, "but I'm here if you need my help." Then, he was gone, vanished into the darkness, and Dean turned around to find the wolf walking back towards him, and at its side was Castiel.

Or at least, the manifestation of him in Dean's dreams. The Hunter walked closer, meeting the God stride for stride until he felt the warm puff of the wolf's breath against his hip.

Castiel smiled at Dean, face just lit up in the glow of the wolf's eyes, and one hand reached down to knot in the wolf's thick, short fur. It took Dean a second to realize why the wolf's body was so misshapen – wings sprouted from its back. They were long and large, black as the darkness around them and shimmering as though they'd been sprinkled with silver.

Castiel looked down at the wolf and smiled when the creature sat on its haunches, looking up at Dean and whining, ears back in uneasiness. "His name shall be Jacob," Castiel whispered, kneeling down to meet what Dean was beginning to suspect were his son's eyes. He stroked over the side of the wolf's face and then looked back up to Dean, taking the Hunter's hand. "Touch him, Dean. Feel his love and adoration for you."

The wolf's fur felt soft under his hand, silky like a cat's, and Dean gasped when he felt the emotions of many souls, all of them werewolf, under his touch. They flashed bright with joy at the touch of their mother, rushing forward like a playful pup, and Dean fell to his knees, his other hand coming up to fist in the wolf's scruff. The wolf bared its neck for Dean, laying its strong jaw on his shoulder and the Hunter shivered, overwhelmed with the amount of affection and love that this creature felt for him, when it wasn't even born, wasn't even developed yet.

It made Dean wonder just how aware these souls were, inside of him.

Castiel's hand landed, gentle and soothing, on the back of Dean's neck, pulling him away from his son. "Do you see now, Dean?" he whispered, pressing his lips to the tear-stained cheek of the Hunter. "Do you finally understand? Everything I do, I do for you, and I do for them, out of love, out of need." The wolf rumbled, dipping its mighty head, wings flared out over both its parents and Dean felt another sob get ripped out of him.

This was so wrong; he knew he should hate, should kill, but he couldn't. The wolf's eyes were _human_. Dean leaned forward, burying his face in the wolf's soft coat again and the thing purred, a low, soothing rumble in its chest that Dean felt more than heard.

"I can't understand," he whispered, defiant still when he turned to look at Castiel's eyes that glowed like his son's. "I'm…I'm sorry, Cas, but I can't." The deity cocked his head to one side.

"Do you love me, Dean?" he whispered, leaning in close and brushing some of Dean's hair from his face.

The Hunter's eyes fell closed, and he hung his head in defeat.

"Again you kneel, again you love." Castiel smiled, pressing another kiss to Dean's forehead. "Soon you will understand."

Dean was wrenched from dreamland with a hoarse cry, rolling over so that he could vomit over the side of the bed into a conveniently placed bucket – Castiel's doing, most likely. For almost ten minutes he dry-heaved into the bucket when there was nothing else left to puke up, and then coughed for another fifteen, trying to make sense of what he'd just seen.

A hallucination, maybe. Some other mindfuck that Castiel was inflicting on him.

It was the morning of the third day, and Dean looked to his pristine bed. Totally clean; no blood. The Hunter's mouth twisted, knowing what he could have to do, and he grabbed his knife. Briefly he toyed with the sharp tip, just letting it glide across the currently-flat expanse of his stomach, but at the first touch of the cold metal nausea and fear unlike anything he'd ever felt swept through him, and with a shudder he hurriedly removed the knife. He looked to the bed again, mouth twisted in a determined expression, and laid the blade to his palm, slicing it open with a smooth jerk.

He let his hand bleed, and then began to smear it over his bed sheets. He had to make his story convincing.

  
  
  


Crowley was _not_ happy.

The _one_ advantage he'd had over this entire deal was being on the inside when it came to the Winchesters. Now all he got was, when Dean was in distress, he could hear the damned human's heartbeat like the most annoying ticking clock in the world, and it was deafening, until he couldn't think and he was _compelled_ to make it stop, which of course involved removing Dean from whatever situation had increased his heart rate like that.

Being unable to see or hear the Hunter was inconvenient, but Crowley was nothing without resources. It was a risky move, but it might just do the trick.

The spell was old – older than many demons, and _that_ was saying something. Still, he was confident it would work because if it didn't, it wouldn't still be around.

He began the chant, lazily drawling out the Latin as he drew sigils out of burnt rosewood and chalk onto the formerly clean wall of his new abode, and set fire to a bowl of herbs with a flick of his wrist. Then, he settled down to wait, because for now there was nothing more to do than just sit around and wait for tomorrow.  



	14.  When It Comes To Love You're Just As Blinded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  Dean's sleep was troubled – it was the early hours of the morning, his sheets were soaked with blood from his arm, used as a disguise to hide the fact that he no longer bled; that inside of him grew the new generation, a mix of man and Angel and creature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Also, Stephanie Meyer has _ruined_ the name 'Jacob' – it's meant to be a reference to Jacob, as in, one of the Fathers of God's races. You know, the not-crappy-Twilight-reference 'Jacob'. So. Yeah. Grr Meyer  >.> And it's a short chapter, but epic shit is about to go down so…yeah.

"They adore you, Dean, just as I do."

Dean's sleep was troubled – it was the early hours of the morning, his sheets were soaked with blood from his arm, used as a disguise to hide the fact that he no longer bled; that inside of him grew the new generation, a mix of man and Angel and creature.

_"I won. They didn't. I won."_

Sweat plastered his hair to his face, coated his skin in a fine sheen that was soaked up by a thin sheet, keeping him cold and making him shiver. His window was thrown open, wisps of smoke from the Guardian outside blowing past it, checking in on his troubled mind.

_"Feel his love and adoration for you."_

Outside, not even the tweet of a bird or the flutter of an insect disturbed the chill, dark night air. There was nothing to disturb the new All-Mother and his fragile, growing child.

_"What does he_ want _them for?"_

_"Flesh. Blood. Grace. Anything he's using, anything he needs to feed_ them _."_

  
  
  
  


"I'm going to kill you, you know."

Dean was back in the glade, but it was lighter now, like dawn was just stretching its trembling fingers and painting the sky with azure-colored nails. The Hunter's dark green eyes were focused on the sky, one hand bracing himself against the floor. With the light of day coming to the area, the maggots had retreated, afraid of the light, screeching when it reached down to brush against their oil-coated skin.

The wolf remained, curled up against its mother's side. It whined, ears flat back and baring its glowing teeth when Dean spoke, fear and anger spiking through Dean and making him flush hot. Dean had come to realize that his emotions and the manifestation of his child's were linked, and the creature was aware enough to feel fear. Or perhaps that was Castiel making sure Dean's devotion didn't waver – after all, if Dean could feel the child's fear, he wouldn't kill it. Surely.

Dean sighed, reaching down and swallowing around a few determined tears that refused to be blinked away, laying a hand over the wolf's scruff and listening to the rustle of its feathers as he shifted position, getting more comfortable on the soft, dewy grass. "Not today," Dean whispered, "and not tomorrow. But one day, when you are born, and grown, I will find a way, a loophole, and come after you." He took a deep breath, letting it out shakily when the wolf's all-too-human blue eyes flashed to his face. "You're not human. You're evil. You shouldn't be alive."

The wolf whined again, the glow in its mouth dimming slightly, eyes closing. Dean took another deep breath, pressing his lips together and trying to swallow back his fear, his sadness – he couldn't do it. Couldn't kill the child. But one day, he knew he would make someone. He would take the choice out of his hands because he would never be able to live with himself if his offspring went on to kill thousands, tens of thousands of innocent people. Better one life than so many civilians.

"I know you're trying to tell me something," Dean continued, continuing to pet through the wolf's silky-soft fur. It felt like Castiel's hair and that thought made Dean choke on a bitter laugh. "I know I'm missing something, but I don't know what it is." He looked down again. "Can't you help me?"

The wolf's ear flickered, like a lazy horse brushing a fly away, and Dean laughed again, lifting his head to stare at the sky once more.

"Yeah," he whispered, breath misting in the chilly air. "It's never that easy."

  
  
  
  


"Dean."

The older Winchester jerked awake with a startled breath, sitting up and lashing out before he could think, and blinked open bleary eyes to the sight of Sam, staring at him warily and holding his hands out in a peaceful gesture. Dean released the breath he'd been unconsciously holding, shifting uncomfortably in bed and moving the sheet so it covered the injury on his arm, and hoped that Sam hadn't noticed.

Unfortunately, Dean never could catch a break. "Where'd you get that?" Sam asked, eyes flashing to his brother's forearm and leaving no doubt as to what he was talking about.

Dean stared, wide-eyed at Sam for a moment, before the answer leapt to his lips unbidden; "Cas dealt it to me," he said, gruff and faking shame when he held Sam's gaze. It felt weird, but when he spoke he could have sworn he heard the echo of Jacob's strangely familiar voice underneath his own. He was amazed that Sam didn't.

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Why would a dog leave a scratch like that?" he asked suspiciously.

Dean's heart kick-started, ramping up to fourth gear. Dean could never remember getting that kind of look from Sam, but he shouldn't have been surprised, because it was the exact same look Dean gave when Sam had been blatantly lying to him about…well, shit, about everything.

Sam leaned that look from _him_.

The answer slid into his brain again, at the back of his mind like smoke; maybe it was the spell, able to make him lie his ass off to protect the child from suspicion at all cost, maybe it was Gabriel or Jacob or even Castiel giving him the answers – he didn't care. He forced a hard look to his face. "Castiel isn't exactly gentle, alright, Sam?" he snapped, and watched Sam's face twist in sympathy. Dean shifted again, averting his eyes and biting his lip. "Any reason to come up here aside from watching me sleep?"

Sam swallowed, folding his arms across his chest. "Uh, yeah," he said, eyes darting away from Dean's face. "Bobby says he has almost everything he needs for the spell. Just…" He trailed off, pressing his lips together in a thin line.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "What else does he need, Sam?" he asked, suspicious and wary. His gut clenched with dread at the thought of Sam asking him for something that he _could_ provide. How would he be able to deny it without giving away the existence of his child? What if they started the spell? How would Dean be able to save Jacob, and by extension, Sam and Bobby?

God, he was fucked. He was so unbelievably screwed.

"We need Cas' blood," Sam said, swallowing again, eyes holding what they both knew – that would be hard to come by. Especially since Castiel was God now – it wasn't like the dude bled everywhere. "And yours."

Any relief Dean might have felt over hearing the first impossible demand vanished at the very easy second. "My -?"

"So that it'll join from him to you," Sam finished, nodding his head a little. "Makes the spell specific. Less chance of error that way."

The way he said that. It was tense, wrong, like he was expecting Dean to argue – Dean _wanted_ to argue, more than anything in the world. Sure, he didn't think Castiel's blood would be exactly easy to come by but even giving them a little of _his_ blood would just make the second part that much easier, the nail in his coffin that much more final if he did.

He swallowed, fingers bunching in the sheets pooled around his waist, and finally broke Sam's gaze. "I've been thinking, Sam," he began, hesitating, and then swallowed and just came out and said it; "Maybe this isn't such a good idea. The spell thing."

Sam's eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth to protest, but before he could get a word out, the weird smoke-in-his-brain feeling crossed over Dean's mind again, and he was speaking, pushing himself forward on the bed so he was closer to Sam. "If Cas finds out, you're dead, Sam," he growled, real anger and fear flashing through his eyes, because killing the kid was impossible, but killing _Sam_ was twice as bad. "You, and Bobby, and maybe even me, and Cas will go off to the next poor schmuck and the whole world will go to Hell. We got this spell from _Crowley_ , dude, _Crowley_ , who, might I add, was in league with Cas from the very beginning. He brought you back _soulless_ , Sam – he fucked us _all_ over and I don't trust him. I don't want anything to do with him. I'm done."

"We don't have a choice here, Dean," Sam snapped back. "What are you going to do, hmm? How will taking out _one_ species and then getting our asses kicked be any better than taking out _two_? At least we can do twice the damage this way, and buy ourselves time, maybe – get the word out to other Hunters…"

"So they can die too?" Dean challenged, eyes flashing.

Sam shifted his weight, lips pressed in a line. "This wouldn't be necessary if you would follow me advice," he said coldly, and Dean felt his blood freeze in his veins.

His fingers twitched and he _just_ managed to resist the urge to press his hand against his stomach, for that would be a dead giveaway. "I'm not using the kids like that, Sam," Dean growled again. "That's…God, that's so messed up."

"What good is it then if you're just gonna let them get killed anyway?" Sam snapped, raising his voice.

"Don't you get it, Sam?" Dean finally stood, letting the sheet fall around his body and pooling at his feet. The cold air brushed along the bare skin of his legs and Dean shivered, wishing he had jeans on but he had to be satisfied with the boxers. "Cas has thought of _everything_. He told me -." He stopped, swallowing, and crossed his arms over his chest. "He's two seconds away from killing us all as it is. He's losing his Goddamned _mind_. Let's give him time to cool off."

Silence rang out in the room, and then Sam swallowed, his eyes darting to the blood stained sheets on Dean's bed, and then back to his brother. "Okay," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. Dean pressed his lips together, nodding and letting relief wash through him, shoulders sagging, when Sam began to back out of the room. "I'll tell Bobby to hold off for now. But we can't just let this die, Dean."

"I know," Dean whispered, and Sam nodded again, exiting the room. Dean listened to his heavy footsteps thudding down the stairs, and then let himself collapse on the bed. His heart was flying, his gut was rolling and he felt seconds away from throwing up.

_Too close_ , Dean thought, pressing a hand against his stomach. He had broken out into a sweat again. _Too damn close._

  
  
  
  


Bobby looked up when Sam reentered his kitchen, mouth twisted at the dark expression on Sam's face. "Well?" he asked without much hope.

"He's lying," Sam whispered, sitting down and staring out of the window towards the junk yard. The Impala sat, abandoned and forlorn-looking, in Bobby's front yard, surrounded by the empty shells of cars before her. His nails drummed bluntly on the tabletop. "He's fuckin' lying to us. I'd bet money he's pregnant already, that Cas has got him spelled somehow."

"What makes you so sure?" Bobby asked with a raised brow. He was all for going in and taking Dean's blood by force, but they'd need good reason to risk the wrath of a God by threatening his favorite. Carelessly angering deities was usually Dean's forte.

Sam's eyes flashed to the older Hunter's. "There was no blood on his legs," he whispered, looking out again. The day was bright – too bright – who gave it the right to be so cheery? It was disgusting. "All over his sheets, but his legs were completely clean. Doesn't make sense."

Bobby's mouth twisted again. "Well, we still have time," he said, shifting uncomfortably, "to be sure, I mean."

Sam nodded, arms folding across his chest, and leaned back in his chair, still staring out of the window. He didn't say a thing.

  
  
  
  


Dean's dreams took him back to the glade. Jacob was there, the wolf standing, head tilted to one side and glowing, human eyes fixed on Dean, as the Hunter ran forward and fell to his knees in front of his son.

He knotted his hands in the wolf's thick scruff, pulling it down to a hug, and the animal went willingly, a low purr rumbling in its chest while its ebony wings wrapped around Dean, shielding him from view and pain.

"Please," he whispered into his son's silken fur. "You have to help me, or you'll die. We'll all die." The wolf pulled away, blinking slowly at Dean, and the Hunter choked on sobs of frustration. "Don't you understand? Don't you care?" The wolf blinked again. " _Damn it_ , Jacob."

The animal growled, baring its wickedly curved teeth at Dean, who had to shield his eyes or risk being blinded. The sound of the animal's growl shook Dean to his very core and he collapsed, gasping, onto his hands and knees on the ground. The night was dark and he felt the wriggling mass of maggots on his hands.

"I know you're trying to tell me something," he whispered, looking back up at the fierce creature who was destined to be his son, "but I can't help you if you don't explain! Please!" He lifted one shaking hand, laying it on the wolf's muzzle. "Please, help me, Jacob."

The wolf opened its mouth again, but this time it was its eyes that flashed, with a light bright enough to illuminate the entire clearing. Dean gasped, struggling to his feet when he saw the maggots curling around the wolf's paws, crawling up its legs. The wolf's wings flared high above its body, blue eyes flashing in a pose that was terribly familiar.

Smoke, drawn from the edges of the trees, curled closer around the wolf, which threw its head back in a loud, broken howl. Dean had heard that cry before – it was the sound of an Angel when it was dying. Bright light flashed through the veil of smoke, showing him flashes of his past, hearing snatches of sound and feeling scraps of sensation flittering down his spine.

_"I cannot fly!"_

Dean swallowed, seeing Castiel in the veil, scared, searching, imploring with the Angel of Death to give him answers. Dean fell to his knees when that Castiel changed, his eyes brighter with less anger in them, skin less sallow, entire body more… _controlled._ He saw a Castiel sitting on a park bench, telling Dean that the lives of the townspeople were doomed to be lost. He saw Castiel when he was defied. He saw the first time he had made Castiel smile.

Tears welled up and he forced himself to wipe them away, because he had to see.

_"You're only saying that because I won."_

_"I won."_

"Cas," he gasped out. That was why it was so familiar. That was why Jacob's voice rang so close – it was Castiel's. His father's.

But -.

_"What does he_ want _them for?"_

_"Flesh. Blood. Grace. Anything he's using, anything he needs to feed them."_

Dean watched Castiel kiss that Angel, saw him swallow his Grace. That must have meant…must have meant he _lost_ his Grace. Somehow. Somehow, Castiel wasn't an Angel, for those brief moments, he wasn't himself anymore.

_"Grace. Anything he's using."_

"He hadn't flown from the room," Dean whispered, realization dawning.

Thunder and lightning flashed through the glade, and Dean flinched, his eyes on the wolf through the smoke. For the briefest moment, he wasn't seeing a winged wolf, with its wings flared high and black and its flashing human eyes, but the very first Angel Dean had ever seen, silhouetted against a barn wall painted and graphitized with black sigils for repulsion and protection. He saw flickering and smashing lights and a creature who scolded him for having no faith.

_"I have filled you many times."_

Dean gasped again, feeling like his chest was burning, and clutched at his heart with one hand, his other sealing over the scar of a handprint on his shoulder. He bent double, still looking up, kneeling before his Lord, and the smoke abruptly vanished, leaving Dean the apparition of his son. Only, for a moment, it wasn't the wolf. It was a man, with tousled black hair and eyes shining with Grace, who had neverknown the feeling of a kiss or what smiling was like. A creature that had never touched a human's skin or taken a vessel or fought for anything other than God, unquestioningly. An Angel who had never strayed from the path of the Righteous.

Jacob blinked very human eyes at Dean and the Hunter gasped again.

"… _Cas_?"  



	15.  Where You Goin'? I'm Leavin' You.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soon, he knew, he would be experiencing morning sickness no matter how he tried to disguise it, and Sam and Bobby were _definitely_ going to find out about the pregnancy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. And, you'll have to give me a little leeway with logic here. I HATE THIS CHAPTER, JSYK. HATE IT HATE IT HATE IT. That is all :D

"You knew."

Dean sighed, leaning forward, rubbing his forehead with the heels of his palms. He had a splitting headache, and the beginnings of nausea were curling through his body – soon, he knew, he would be experiencing morning sickness no matter how he tried to disguise it, and Sam and Bobby were _definitely_ going to find out about the pregnancy.

He'd been trying to avoid them, until he figured out what the hell he was going to do. Unfortunately, that was hard when all you had was a house with three fully grown men inside. If worse came to worst, he could try locking himself in the panic room and bolting it from the inside, but that was a definite last resort, because once there, he'd be stuck.

"I…suspected, yes."

Dean choked out a harsh laugh. _Suspected_. Of course. One of these days, someone would just out and _explain_ everything, with no lies or tricks, and then Dean would lie back and wait for the end of the world.

"Suspected," he repeated, biting out the word, and looked up. "When were you going to tell me, Gabriel?"

The Angel of Death looked a bit uneasy, eyes flashing to the slumbering winged wolf at Dean's side. Jacob was dozing next to his mother, muzzle pressed to the outside of Dean's thigh to protect his sensitive nose from the cold air, his wings spread out either side of him in rest. Gabriel fidgeted, looking down at his hands.

"I don't know," he replied. "Probably never. I…" He sighed. "You have to understand, Dean-o. It might be the 'real' Cas in there, but the 'real' Cas was the one who ate all those souls in the first place. I've been dead for over two years, Winchester – I have no idea how far my little brother has fallen, even without them."

Dean bit his lip, eyes flashing briefly with anger, before he let it go – he didn't have the energy to be angry. Not right now. Whenever he tried; whenever he seemed to be feeling fear or anger or grief, something warm and soothing spread through his gut, running up his spine and warming him from the inside. Dean didn't know what it was; perhaps his son's presence; maybe Castiel's spell on him to make him love the child unconditionally, and therefore not be able to feel _anything_ bad. He didn't know and, frankly, he didn't much care.

"I don't understand," he whispered, leaning down to stroke over his son's head. "If this is Cas… _really_ Cas…how? How is that possible?" He took a deep, shaky breath. "I thought he wasn't an Angel anymore – Sam stabbed him and…"

"He stabbed him with an Angel blade?" Gabriel asked, frowning. Dean nodded. "Whose?"

Dean snorted, shrugging. "I don't know, Stunt Angel Number Three's?" he said derisively.

Gabriel frowned a little more, and then his face smoothed out in understanding. "I know," he said, sighing, shoulders dropping a little. "Okay…" He laced his fingers together, trying to think how best to explain. "You know how there are certain creatures who are more powerful than anything else? Alphas, the like?"

Dean nodded, pressing his lips together – he knew all too well.

"Well, being the first of something makes you special. And for every…well, think of it as a buffer, I guess." Gabriel's brow furrowed – it would be so much easier to explain through a kind of Grace-mind-meld, but unfortunately he wasn't corporeal enough for that. "Angel blades are meant to find Grace and destroy it, while leaving everything else untouched. So they can drain as well; if a human soul rebelled against an Angel inside of the vessel, and the vessel was stabbed in a non-fatal place, theoretically the human could survive afterwards with minimal effects. There's so much _other_ in Castiel, that I guess the blade couldn't find it, maybe."

He shrugged. "Maybe Cas doesn't think he's an Angel at all anymore, because technically, he's not – he's something _other_ than that. And that makes him powerful enough to get past the sigils warding Bobby's house."

Dean blinked. He hadn't thought about that – he was used to Castiel being able to just fly in and out of the house and he didn't even realize that they'd Angel-proofed the whole thing after Castiel had fucked up Sam's mental block.

"Plus," Gabriel added, "a lower level Angel's blade wouldn't be able to kill an Archangel. A dead Angel's blade, too, is not as powerful. Any one of those factors could have affected how successful the blow was."

"Right." Dean looked down, willing to accept that for now, and ran his fingers through his son's thick scruff, reminded of Castiel's hair when he petted through it; it was really very soft, and thick, and warm. "Why is he a wolf?" he asked, looking back up at Gabriel. "If he's Cas, why is he a wolf?"

Gabriel blinked. "You're the _All-Mother,_ Dean," he said, as though the answer was obvious from that.Dean just shrugged, not understanding, and shook his head. "You see a wolf because you think that's what it's going to be. Do you know what souls are, Dean?" The Hunter shook his head. "Souls are blank slates – they are determined by their body, by their host, not the other way around. You see vampires and werewolves in the souls because that is what you _expect_ to see. And, as the All-Mother, you can force them to take on a certain shape if that is what you think they should be. Your son is a wolf because that is what you think you'll get."

Dean frowned at that, pressing his lips together in thought. "But I know he's Cas," he said, looking down at the slumbering wolf again. He still couldn't believe it – it seemed impossible, and more than a little messed up – the kid was _literally_ his own father, how messed up was that? "I…I can't kill him, because it's _Cas_ , but I can't _not_ …I mean, Sam and Bobby are gonna get suspicious, and -."

Dean cut himself off when Gabriel's head snapped up, the Angel of Death looking somewhere above Dean's head. Dean turned around, to try and see what was going on, but there wasn't anything there; just trees and shadow.

"Gabriel?"

"Something's happening," Gabriel said, stepping forward, and reaching out towards Dean's forehead. "Time to wake up now."

  
  
  
  


"I'm just sayin', Bobby, if we could get the word out to other Hunters – maybe spread what's going on, then -."

"I don't understand what you're tryin' to accomplish here, boy," the older Hunter said gruffly, eyeing Sam up. Nowadays the kid was just too quiet; too brooding and lost in thought. Bobby had no idea what he was thinking but it was the same expression he'd had right before asking what possession had been like and proposing that he could force Lucifer into the cage.

"It'll be another Apocalypse that the world never knew was happening," Sam muttered, and then he sighed, running his hands through his hair. His head hurt. "Listen, Bobby, Cas' endgame is to rule the new world with his kids, right?" Bobby nodded, pursing his lips in thought. "Well, the phones still work, right? We should _educate_ people – teach people what to look for. As soon as Cas releases his new species, they'll be wiped out."

Bobby raised a brow. "You're suggesting going out, telling people there's something in their closet, and then give them a gun? You're gonna have a lot of stupid, scared people creating a lot of accidents, Sam."

"Cas needs people to follow him, Bobby," Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest with a frown. "If he keeps killing Angels, he'll need humans. If his kids kill the humans and the humans kill his kids, he'll have massacres on his hands that he won't be able to handle. Maybe then he'll finally listen to reason."

There was silence for a moment, before Bobby leaned back in his chair. "You feelin' alright, Sam?" he asked.

Sam frowned. "I'm fine," he bit out. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"'Cause that sounds kind of like a Sam I thought we'd gotten rid of," Bobby said quietly, carefully, as though he wasn't sure of Sam's reaction and, truthfully, he wasn't. "You sure you're feelin' okay?"

"Let's just focus on the matter at hand, Bobby," Sam growled, turning his head to look out of the window. Bobby sighed, shaking his head – the fact that Sam was willing to risk, as he'd said himself, 'massacre' for the sake of dejuicing a pseudo-God worried Bobby. It reminded him of a Sam that he'd thought was long gone – ie, one that didn't have a soul.

"Sure," the Hunter said, flicking a page of a book absently, and heaved a sigh. "So Dean's not gonna give us his blood?"

Sam shook his head. "Not willingly," he said, eyes flashing darkly, and then sighed also, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, I get it – he's worried Cas will nuke us if we get it wrong or he finds out. But, I mean, why would he ever know? I just…I mean, we don't know how this _works_." He gestured to himself. "I don't know if he _feels_ every single soul and can tell if something's taking them away, or _what_." He huffed angrily. "I hate how little we actually know."

Just then, the phone rang, and Bobby and Sam's eyes flashed to it, suddenly worried. Only one person would bother calling them nowadays – Bobby pushed his chair back from his desk and stood up, ambling over to the phone. "Yeah?" he said once he'd picked it up.

"'Ello, love," came the answer, in a voice that was unmistakable. "Just wondering if my little package for the new mother-to-be had come yet."

Bobby frowned. Well, that solved one mystery. "What package?" he asked gruffly, gesturing for Sam to come over so he could listen too. Sam frowned, standing, and made his way over, gaze flashing outside.

And then he stopped, staring.

There was a wolf sitting on the Impala.

Sam stopped, peering at the animal. It looked like any normal grey timber wolf – its light pelt contrasted against the black top of the Impala, its paws hanging off the edge as it laid down, neck craned so that it looked like it was looking into Dean's bedroom window (or, at least, the equivalent of it since Dean's room was on the other side of the house.

The younger Winchester left the room, abruptly, leaving Bobby to carry on his phone conversation alone, and went to the back of the house, into the kitchen. He looked out of the window there. There were three wolves in the backyard, all staring up at Dean's window.

He went through towards the back door, but a moving shadow that filtered in underneath the doorframe let him know there was an animal pacing there, too. He heard growling and slowly reached for the gun he kept tucked into the back of his jeans, just in case. He hurried forward, latched the door, and then returned to Bobby.

"Wolves," he whispered, gesturing towards the outside. The Hunter followed his pointing and his eyes widened – there were more wolves on the Impala now. Two on the hood and three on the roof, another licking gently at the lock on the trunk. They bore different markings, different colored pelts – it wasn't like some random wolf pack had moved in next door. They were here for a _reason_.

Sam watched as one of them climbed off the hood, trotting up towards Bobby's porch. The beast was huge, easily standing up to Sam's waist if they were standing side by side, tongue lolling out of its mouth because the day was hot. Sam almost expected the black smoke screen to make a grab for the animal, seeing it as a threat, but nothing happened – the wolf was allowed to approach the house to its heart's content.

"What's going on?" Bobby demanded, sure that it was Crowley who had sent the wolves.

The demon chuckled on the other end of the line. "I may have let them know that mama's home," he said.

Bobby frowned, because that didn't make any sense – why would Crowley send a bunch of wolves to them?

"Talk to you later, darlin'," Crowley said cheerfully, and then the line went dead, and Bobby cursed and hung up.

At that moment, Dean stumbled down the stairs, looking like he was barely able to keep himself upright. His eyes were wide and staring at the front door, his skin pale, and expression almost _afraid_. He looked, quite frankly, awful.

"Dean?" Bobby asked cautiously, catching his attention, "do you know what's going on?"

"I…" Dean swallowed, shaking his head, and looked back outside. "No idea," he whispered, and Bobby got the feeling that he was actually telling the truth, so he let it pass. Dean headed towards the door, his hand closing around the handle and Sam watched, gun cocked and ready, when the animal on the porch's ears perked up at the soft sound of the handle jiggling in place.

The wolf barked softly – a gentle whuff of breath – and Dean felt that warm-happy glow spreading through him again, encouraging him to open the door and let the creatures in, or go outside to meet them. He wanted to, but Castiel had spelled the house so that they couldn't go outside.

"Dean?" He turned his head to see Sam watching him with concerned eyes. But when he looked at Sam, all he could think about was how Sam wanted to kill his child – it was awful, how much nicer going outside seemed than staying in here. His hand tightened on the door handle and Sam nodded. "Go. I'll cover you."

Dean swallowed again, and took a deep breath, barely allowing himself to hope, before he turned the handle and pulled the door inwards. The wolf was sitting when he opened the door, staring up at him with dark brown eyes and a lolling tongue. Its tail thumped twice against the porch floor and it whuffed, softly, again, ears forward.

It certainly didn't _look_ threatening.

Cautiously, Dean took a step forward, and the wolf's eyes flashed to Sam, who had moved behind him, and the wolf whined, dipping its head and licking its muzzle like a puppy, stretching its forelegs forward and then pressing its belly to the ground so it was laying down.

Dean gasped when he felt a tendril of thought enter his mind, much like he had with the skinwalkers; ' _Alpha_.'

The wolf's consciousness slid forward and curled around his own, feeling like warm fur and strength, and Dean took another step forward, nails digging into the wood of the frame as he stared at the wolf, realizing that it was… _submitting_ to him.

He bent down, ignoring Sam's warning murmur of 'Dean', and reached forward, laying his hand on the wolf's cheek. His hand made contact with the outside, and when he fell forward onto his knees, he found himself kneeling on Bobby's porch, not still in the house. He gasped, crawling out of it with wide eyes, and grinned back at Sam, who frowned.

Dean still had a hand in the wolf's pelt, scratching at the thick scruff of fur, and the animal rolled onto its side, baring its belly and flashing dark brown eyes up at Dean. "What's your name?" Dean asked softly, petting over the wolf's flank.

It blinked. _'Aaron,'_ it said, and Dean nodded. Then, he looked up, still seeing Sam standing inside the house with his weapon drawn, and growled, waving it away.

"They're not gonna hurt us," he said, looking at the other wolves, who had returned from staring at the house. There were almost twenty of them, all standing around the Impala, or the porch, watching Dean and Aaron and Sam. Dean stood up, tugging gently on the wolf's fur. "Come on, get up," he murmured to the wolf, who quickly rolled to his feet and shook his pelt. He looked back to Sam. "Come outside."

"I can't," Sam bit out tersely. "Tried."

Dean's eyes widened in realization.

Sam's eyes wandered around them. "Why are they here?" he asked.

Dean sighed. "I don't know," he lied. He looked up, stepping off the porch, towards where he expected to find the dark wall of smoke still lingering around the house, but there wasn't anything. Gabriel had disappeared and Dean didn't want to think about what that meant.

_'Alpha_ ,' Aaron said, trotting after him and licking lightly at Dean's hand, _'you must come with us. You are not safe here.'_

Dean frowned. "Who sent you?"

The wolf's ears flickered uneasily. _'We felt the new Alpha being conceived,'_ he said, dipping his head towards the ground. _'Now you have been given your freedom. Come with us. Be safe, with us, until the Alpha is born. The Alpha needs to be born.'_

Dean swallowed – well, something they agreed on. He looked back towards the house – it was an awful decision to make. He knew, sooner or later (if they hadn't already) Sam and Bobby would figure out that he was pregnant, and try and pressure him into giving his blood and getting some of Cas' for the ritual, and he wouldn't be able to explain that without telling them everything – about his vow, about Castiel inside of him…any of it. And they wouldn't believe him. They'd think it was all in his head – Dean could hear them now – and, hell, it _might_ be in all in his head. It might be some epic mindfuck that Cas put on him to make sure he didn't want to kill the kid, but Dean couldn't know that until it was born.

He just had to be 'safe', and he knew he would be safer away from Sam and Bobby.

He nodded. "Where are we going?" he asked, heading towards the car.

Aaron chuckled softly in his head. _'Just follow us, Alpha. We shall run.'_

"Dean!"

The older Winchester halted, looking up and saw Sam waving frantically at him. "Yeah, Sam?" he asked, not willing to get closer.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Dean sighed. "Look, I'm not stupid, alright? You know I've been lying – I know you know, and the best thing we can do is go our separate ways for now and deal with this shit in our own way." He never thought _he'd_ ever be the one to give this speech – he had lost count of the times Sam had proposed separating, and Dean had sworn to himself that he would never do it. But he had to, now, because it wasn't just them they were thinking about. It hurt, more than he would care to admit, watching Sam look at him with that betrayed, angry expression, but Dean had no other choice.

He had _no other choice_.

He climbed into the car, knowing the keys would be there – Castiel had removed them from the house and this seemed the only logical place to put them. Sure enough, they were in the glove box, and Dean smiled when he heard the familiar sound of his baby's engine purring at him. He backed out of Bobby's yard, Aaron guiding his way, and then put her in drive and sped away, an escort of wolves following him on either side.

Sam sighed, stepping away from the door, and went back into the main room. "Damn it," he growled, slamming his gun down. "There goes Plan A."

"Crowley planned this," Bobby muttered, scratching at his beard. "He wanted Dean to be separated from us, I bet. He knew the wolves would draw him away."

"But why?" Sam demanded.

"Finally," came a voice. "I thought he'd never leave."

The two Hunters turned around, Sam standing up with his gun, but Gabriel waved a hand, slamming it back down and jerking Sam's arm in the process. Sam's eyes widened in recognition. " _Gabriel?"_

"The one and only," the Angel of Death said, gesturing to himself. He wasn't quite corporeal yet, but he had managed to shape the shadows around himself, so really he just looked like a grainy black-and-white movie character. He smiled at Sam. "'S good to see you, Sammy."

"What…?" Sam looked at Bobby, as though he might know what was going on, but Bobby just shrugged.

Gabriel sighed, stepping forward, and drew a chair up to the table. "Listen, guys – we really need to talk."

  
  
  
  


There was the sound of metal scraping against metal, and the air in the car got very, very cold. Dean shivered, looking to the passenger seat, to find Castiel staring out ahead of him, at the running wolves.

Could he really call the thing 'Castiel' anymore? How did all that work? Was he still _Cas_?

Castiel turned to look at him, smiling slightly. "Hello, Dean," he whispered, cocking his head to one side before turning his eyes back out to the road.

He wondered if Castiel could see the Angel Grace inside of him – would he see it as a threat? Try and destroy it? _What if he knew_?

Forcing himself to remain calm, Dean took a deep breath and let it out. "Hey, Cas," he said in reply, trying to focus on driving and not running any of the wolves over. "I, uh…" He paused, shrugging. "It wasn't very safe in there anymore."

Castiel nodded, still smiling, and Dean felt himself relax a little. "I would not have allowed the wolves to reach the house if I did not agree with their mission," he said, earning a look from Dean. "You are beginning to accept your role as the All-Mother." A pause. "I am very proud of you."

Dean did his best to ignore the little kernel of hope and joy that settled low in his gut at those words; it sounded sappy and was probably rooted in some deep-seated Daddy issue, but those words could just _break_ Dean as easily as anything. The Hunter pressed his lips together, trying to blink back the swell of emotion.

Instead, he shakily murmured; "Thank you, Cas."

"How is our son?" Castiel asked, turning to look at Dean again, and the Hunter couldn't help smiling, just a little, thinking of Jacob, of _Cas_ , and then he realized what he was thinking and forced himself to stop.

"Strong. He, uh…" Dean paused, clearing his throat, and remembered what Gabriel had said; ' _You are the All-Mother. Your son is a wolf because that is what you think you'll get.".'_ "He has your eyes. And his fur feels like your hair. He's the same color."

Castiel smiled a little, vacantly, and nodded to himself. "So he is a wolf," he said.

"Yeah," Dean replied, nodding.

"Good." Castiel cocked his head to one side, looking out of the side of the car, to where three more were flanking the Impala. His eyes flashed as he felt the souls of the wolf's enemies flare up in response to them, but he tamped them down with the force of his will and the newly-acquired Angel Grace inside of him. He had killed another Angel that morning – one of the more subtly loyal to Raphael. They were getting fewer; Castiel was pleased with his progress.

"How are you doin', Cas?" Dean asked, because he felt like he should – sure as hell didn't ask enough when Castiel was still his friend, still like a brother to him; the least he could do is ask now, and make sure Castiel wasn't doing something especially reckless and crazy.

Castiel sighed a little, shifting in place. "I grow restless," he confessed, brow furrowing slightly, gaze turning inward as he looked at his lap. "The souls sense your growing readiness, I suspect – they are all clamoring to be the next inside of you."

Dean shivered at that, his hands clenching on the wheel, and just managed to not flinch when Castiel's cold hand closed around the back of his neck. The deity leaned forward, across the bench seat, and kissed Dean softly on the cheek.

"When you are settled," he rasped into Dean's ear, "I shall visit you and see if I can speed up the pregnancy. I am finding their impatience to be something that affects me, too." Dean shivered again at that, his eyes closing for the briefest moment when Castiel gently bit at his jaw, thumb running through the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, before withdrawing. "I shall see you soon, Dean. Be safe." And then he was gone in a clash of metal.

Dean flexed his fingers when the air began to warm up again, and looked into a side mirror, finding one of the wolves looking right at him.

_'Alpha_ ,' she called, sensing his distress, _'are you alright?'_

He licked his lips and forced a smile, and nodded. She seemed satisfied with that and fell silent. No one said a thing for the rest of the way  



	16.  Here We Go Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The idea – that the wolves were making sure he got to wherever he was going, as safe as possible, with shifts of guards, made him feel like some sort of Very Important Person who might get assassinated, so needed a constant stream of guards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Sorry it took so long, guys – RL has been crazy-busy, and tumblr has been slowly eating my life. So, yeah. *headdesk*

The wolves scattered before Dean drove by any major towns, or any place where they could smell another vehicle or person coming their way. Soon, it was just Aaron, glimpses of grey-white fur between whatever was marring the view of the side of the road. Since Dean could hear the wolf in his head, he wasn't too worried about leaving the wolf behind – it seemed that as long as he kept under fifty, the wolves could keep up with him pretty well. Or maybe there were relays of them. The idea – that the wolves were making sure he got to wherever he was going, as safe as possible, with shifts of guards, made him feel like some sort of Very Important Person who might get assassinated, so needed a constant stream of guards. This, of course, caused a sour, unsettling feeling to start in his stomach, so he would turn up the radio louder – listening to nothing in particular – and tried to put it out of his mind.

He used to think the Impala was the safest place on Earth – nothing could touch him as long as he was behind the wheel or in the back seat, going as fast as he dared on an open road. But now the steady rumble of her engine unsettled him. He was very aware that he was sitting inside of something that could break down at any moment, or some crazy driver could take him by surprise and he would crash, or some other freak ' _Final Destination'_ -esque accident would happen to him.

A wave of nausea rolled through his gut and, with a curse, Dean pulled sharply onto the side of the road, closing his eyes and leaning back in the chair while he took a deep breath, wanting to calm himself down. His fingers flexed over the Impala's wheel, listening to her steady engine idling.

"You'd never hurt me girl, right?" he asked, petting over her dash and smiling a little. He hadn't been in the Impala in far too long, trapped in Bobby's house. He'd missed his girl.

  
 _"Alpha?"_ Dean turned his head to one side to find Aaron looking at him from the passenger side window, the wolf rearing up slightly and pressing one soft paw against the window. _"Are you alright? We must hurry – it's not safe for you out here."_

Dean took another deep breath, looking out in front of him at the wide, open stretch of highway. Then, he sighed, leaning over and opening the passenger door. "Get in," he demanded of the wolf, who yelped softly, ears forward, before obeying – his claws dug into the upholstery but Dean decided to let that go for now, closing the door behind the wolf. It would be good to have company, even if it was a potentially violent supernatural creature.

"So…are you, like, a werewolf or something?" Dean asked, fifty miles later. One of Aaron's ears flickered towards him, the wolf blinking lazily. Half of his body was in the foot well, the other braced on the seat in an awkward sitting-laying position, and while Dean felt bad, Aaron insisted that it wasn't uncomfortable.

He licked his nose, yawning hugely and baring large, white teeth and a curling tongue. Beside his muzzle, on the seat, Dean's phone buzzed with another call he had no intention of answering. _"Yes,"_ he replied, resting his head on the seat again. _"My father was bitten by the original and I was conceived through natural means during the full moon. True wolf blood runs through my veins and those of my Pack – we can change at will."_

Dean swallowed and tried not to think about how the soul of that original wolf – the original, female Alpha, was now theoretically inside of him, as well as all the other wolf souls that had died. _Christ_ , how many people's parents was he being, here? It was giving him a headache, trying to wrap his mind around it.

"Well, since your dad and mom are dead," he said, shifting in discomfort on the seat when Aaron blinked his dark hazel eyes over to Dean, "doesn't that make you the new Alpha?"

The wolf shifted slightly, his shoulders rolling in a kind of canine shrug. _"Yes and no. Technically, I am next in line – but wolves don't work like that. We're not a monarchy. The strongest and the most cunning and fierce is the Alpha, and you, full of the souls of so many dead, are sure to bear the strongest Alpha ever. No one shall argue against that."_

That thought didn't make Dean feel any more comfortable – the feeling that he was an important person who could be attacked at any moment refused to go away. It just seemed that, if he was a wolf, and had power, and knew that a bigger and badder wolf was about to invade his territory, he would want to do anything possible to stop that from happening. He would try to eliminate the threat before it became one.

His hands tightened on the wheel as anxiety caused an uncomfortable pressure to build up in his chest, and reminded himself that Castiel wouldn't have let him go if he didn't think he would be safer with these wolves than he was with Sam and Bobby.

Cas could read _minds_ , right? And probably see the future and all sorts. He wasn't going to let Dean lose another kid. Not this time.

The Hunter blew out the breath he'd been holding, uncurling his fingers and wiggling them slightly to get rid of the ache that had been building up from white-knuckling the wheel, and his eyes flashed briefly to the wolf once more. He licked his lips. "Why haven't you changed?" he asked. "Surely you'd be more comfortable sitting." He felt bad that the animal had to distort himself so awkwardly to fit in his car – it was worse than watching Sam trying to fold himself into it.

Aaron barked out a soft laugh. _"Because you have no clothes,"_ he replied, ear twitching. _"A naked man would draw more attention that a large dog that looked like a wolf. America, I've found, is more open to a giant animal than a streaker."_

Dean's mouth twisted in amusement. "Well, first thing, I'm gonna buy you some clothes. It feels weird just talking to a wolf like this." Even if there was no one there to hear or judge him. Aaron didn't reply, except with a soft 'Yes Alpha', and then settled down to doze some more, his ears occasionally flicking back and forth as he listened to the rumble and whine of the Impala and the change as Dean moved from highway to town roads, then back to highway again, as they kept driving steadily south.

  
  


"He's not picking up," Sam muttered, angrily closing and tossing his phone onto the table. He glared at the screen for a few minutes, before looking up, where Bobby and Gabriel were still watching him. He shook off his anger and tried to concentrate on what they'd been discussing for the last hour and a half. "So…Cas is like…" He blanched, not sure if he'd be able to say it aloud.

"Castiel is Dean's child," Gabriel stated plainly, rolling his eyes at Sam's grossed-out expression. He spread his hands out in a gesture of surrender. "At least, Castiel's Grace is inside of the baby. I don't know what's going on – no one seems to, right now."

Sam bristled at Gabriel's tone. "We've been trying our best," he bit out, glaring up at the monochrome, fuzzy-edged Angel. "Times haven't exactly been easy, you know."

Gabriel fixed Sam with a look. "I helped you stop the Devil so that you could free a God," he replied flatly, eyes dark.

Sam shoved himself to his feet with a low growl of anger. "Don't you even _start_ ," he hissed, pointing accusingly at Gabriel. "I get it, okay? You sacrificed yourself on the _off chance_ that we might win. And we did. But we're only human, alright Gabriel?" He threw his arms out, gesturing at Bobby's house around them. "We're not all-powerful like you guys, okay? And we can't see the future, and we can't stop things from happening. It's not _my_ fault that Cas brought me back without a soul – I couldn't _stop_ that, and I couldn't stop him from trapping us in here, and I couldn't stop Dean from…"

He stopped, clenching his jaw, and shook his head, long hair falling in front of his face, hiding the slowly gathering tears in his eyes, and Gabriel took a step forward, arm reached out, intending to comfort him, before Sam sat back down, rubbing his palm over his jaw in a habit he'd picked up from Dean.

After a moment's silence, Bobby cleared his throat. "Not to interrupt the minor breakdown going on," he said, too lightly for the situation and pulling a book towards himself just so that his hands would have something to do, "but it's obvious that we can't do the ritual. We don't have either Dean or Cas' blood, and Dean's gone now." He looked up at Gabriel, then over at Sam, waiting for them to chime in.

"Why did Crowley send the wolves?" Sam asked, frowning after a moment. His voice was still shaky and both Gabriel and Bobby ignored the brightness of tears still lingering in his eyes. "How did he _know_ it was a wolf?"

"And how did he get them all to come here?" Bobby asked, pressing his lips together in thought.

Gabriel went very still for a moment, eyes focused on nothing in particular, before he cursed. "I have an idea of what he did," he said, closing his eyes for a moment. " _Damn it,_ Crowley." The curse was just that – a curse, bitten out like he was wishing the foulest torment ever on the demon. His mirage flickered in and out of existence briefly.

"What's happening?" Sam asked, standing again. "What's wrong?"

"I think -." Then, Gabriel's image was snuffed out, like someone blowing out a flame. One moment he was there – the next, as though he never had been. Sam's eyes widened, looking around and hoping that maybe Gabriel had just teleported or something, not _disappeared._ He wondered where he'd gone; what he was doing.

"So much for that," Bobby said, entirely too calm for the situation, and Sam looked at him.

His breath began to mist in the air in front of him, and Bobby's eyes widened in realization. Sam turned around, to one side, so that Bobby would also be able to see Castiel standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

The deity smiled, taking a step forward. "Hello, Sam. Bobby." He nodded at the older Hunter, who swallowed and pressed his lips together, fingers obviously itching for a blade or a gun, though it wouldn't do anything except amuse and possibly piss off Castiel.

Castiel came to a stop in the middle of the room and Sam swallowed. He was freezing – Castiel radiated cold like a glacier, and the hair on Sam's forearms and the back of his neck were rising, goose bumps breaking out over his skin. "What do you want?" he asked, in a voice that he tried to make steady.

The God cocked his head to one side, fixing Sam a look with flat blue-black eyes. He smiled. "I want to thank you," he said, flashing teeth in his smile; it would almost be friendly on anyone else. "For taking care of Dean while he was here. And I wanted to apologize for the rather abrupt change in plans." He took a breath, nostrils flaring as though scenting the air, and looked away from Sam, into the hallway, eyes flashing upwards as though he could see the rooms beyond through the ceiling. "I'm sure you understand."

Sam swallowed, eyes flashing to Bobby, then back to Castiel who wasn't watching them. _God,_ how could Dean stand this cold? "Where's Dean going?" he demanded.

Castiel flashed a smile his way. "Does it matter?"

"It sure as hell does matter!" The snarl escaped Sam before he could control it, but it didn't seem to phase Castiel, who merely blinked at him, a small frown on his face, as though he didn't understand that reference. Sam wanted to punch him. "He's not answering his phone."

Castiel's expression smoothed out in understand. He was smiling again. "Dean is safe," he said, looking away, tilting his head to one side as though listening to something only he could hear. "With the wolves…I see them fighting for him fiercely. And winning." He smiled. "You do not have to fear for your brother's safety."

Sam opened his mouth to object, but nothing came out when Castiel stepped closer; "I appreciate that you are concerned for him," the deity said, eyes dark, voice flat. He raised a hand and pressed two fingers to Sam's head, and Sam shuddered at the brief flare of hellfire that flashed through his mind before it was tamped down, flattened by something cold and soothing. "But I would like to remind you that you, and Bobby, and Dean, are at my mercy." He smiled, his hand falling back to his side. "And my mercy is not boundless."

He moved away. "I shall encourage Dean to contact you – I know you are both very dependent on each other, and it wouldn't do well to have you two separated completely."

Sam wanted to argue more; wanted to demand answers and freedom and beg to know where Dean was and have all of this just be _over_ , but all that came out was a very small-sounding 'Thank you'.

Castiel smiled, looking back to Sam with a contemplative expression. "I should never have trusted a demon," he confessed, shaking his head slightly. "Well, I never did trust him. But I should never have worked with him. Tricky little things, demons." He sighed. "Such a shame – I had great plans for him."

With a sound of thousands of swords being unsheathed, Castiel disappeared, without elaborating on his comment. Sam practically deflated – he felt like icy hooks had been sunken into his flesh and holding him upright, and now that Castiel was gone, so were they and he stumbled, sinking into his chair.

As soon as the chill was gone from the room, Gabriel reappeared, looking around to make sure Castiel was truly gone, and Sam glared at him. "Nice to know you're still the same brave soul you've always been," he snapped. "Where did you go?"

"Doin' my job," Gabriel replied, voice equally flat and angry. "I'm meant to be the one protecting you guys – I'm the big-ass smoke screen thing surrounding this house. If Cas comes calling and I'm not there, he's gonna have my head."

Sam snorted, shaking his head. "Coward," he muttered.

Gabriel growled, stepping forward and grabbing a fistful of Sam's hair – almost surprised that he _could_ ; he was gaining more substance, slowly but surely – "Damn right," he snapped, eyes glowing a soft white before he let go, taking a step back. "This Castiel – this new _thing_ that's walking around with my little brother's skin – he _terrifies_ me. He should scare you too."

"We’re gonna beat him," Sam said, emphasizing his vow with a nod of his head. "One way or another. We have to."

Gabriel's mouth twisted in sympathy, and he rolled his eyes, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'Winchesters' and disappeared again, back to guarding the house and keeping Sam and Bobby locked inside.

  
  


He drove for thirteen hours before exhaustion caught up with him, and he gave up making any more distance that day, pulling over into the lot of the first motel room he saw. It was called 'The Red Parrot' and, true to form, was decorated in a pirate motif on the inside. Skull-and-cross-bones lined the walls, white against the tan color of old treasure maps, and the chest of drawers for holding stuff was a giant treasure chest. Dean dropped his duffle – which was only full of guns and weapons since he didn't have anything else to hand, hadn't packed before he'd left – onto the chest, and began demon-proofing the room, true to form. He almost had to pause several times, about to hand Sam a tube of salt or paint for a sigil, only to realize Sam wasn't there.

His body was on automatic, and he felt numb when he salt-lined the door and painted a Devil's Trap onto the ceiling above it. There was only a small window and he lined that too, and the air vent in the bathroom, just in case. He even, for a second, debated putting up one of the Angel-blasting sigils Castiel had taught him how to do up, but discarded the idea; if an Angel showed up, Dean had no doubt it was probably another one of Castiel's protectors, or Castiel would help him. Besides, if he used the sigil, he had no idea what that would do to the baby Angel that was apparently growing in his stomach, and if it _was_ Cas, then he sure as hell wasn't going to do _anything_ to risk him.

He didn't even drink, though he desperately wanted to. Aaron followed him to the local convenience store where he stocked up on the kind of ready-made sandwiches truck stops are famous for, and as much food as he could carry. Aaron had been right; aside from a few strange looks, people seemed to ignore the fact that Dean had a wolf following him around. Maybe Aaron looked enough like a dog for him to be passed off as one – Dean didn't know. It wasn't like he was an expert on dog breeds or anything.

Either way, so long as no one gave him trouble, he was fine.

Three of the wolves joined him with Aaron in his motel room, the four of them piled onto the second bed because Dean hadn't had the heart to ask for a single, just yet. It had just been automatic. The clerk's odd look made a little more sense to him now.

Dean asked their names and learned that the female that had talked to him was Leah. Then there was Eric and Jeremy. All of them were older than Dean, but younger than his father had been. The four animals slept in a mass of grey and red furs while Dean took his own bed, and knew it was ridiculous, but the Queen-size seemed too small, the soft whuffs and pants of the wolves too quiet when compared with Sam's snores. Dean felt lonelier than ever, in the kind of setting that had been his entire life without the people who, until recently, had made _up_ his entire life. The lump of emotion stuck in his throat no matter how much he tried to swallow it back, and he fell asleep curled tightly around himself, looking forward to dreams of his son and Castiel in that glade.

It was scary, almost, how eagerly he looked forward to the nighttime now, how much more attractive it was than the reality of daylight.

When he fell asleep, Jacob ran forward to greet him with a soft, happy bark. The wolf's eyes, bright and human and blue, made Dean feel lighter than he had in a long time, and he smiled and pet through the wolf's thick fur, burying his face in his scruff and listened to the animal's quick, excited breaths.

"I want to see you," he whispered into Jacob's human-feeling fur, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "Cas. I want to see you. Please."

Nothing happened. He didn't expect it to happen. But one of Jacob's wings curled forward around him, holding him close, so soft and warm, and the wolf whined, nuzzling into Dean's neck. Dean hugged him tighter, and let the tears that he'd been holding back in his waking hours fall.  



	17. Look Me in the Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Again, sorry for the delay – school, work, sleep, you know, the whole deal. *flops* Okay, you have to work with me a little here – I know my timelines are, for all intents and purposes, f*cked up, but if you're willing to work with me on this, then so am I. I know the lunar eclipse where Cas ate all the souls was in June. The next one is in December. I'm getting around that – work with me.

The new God gazed upon the ranks of Heaven's once-great army. The wars previous with Hell had depleted their numbers, and with the recent almost-Apocalypse and Civil War in Heaven, the toll was much greater, and much more obvious. Huge chunks and sometimes whole garrisons were obviously absent from their places – but no Angels would step forward to take their place. Every Angel had his place in Heaven and to form tight ranks when someone else had fallen was unheard of.

 

Through Castiel's eyes, he could see black poison creeping through the shining Host. In the gaps was a black, abyssal darkness, that frightened him more than he would care to say. He could see the demon taint spreading through them like wildfire, the weak Seraphs and lowly Angels falling prey from the weakness within their own ranks.

It wouldn't do.

The only thing left, that would truly make Castiel into the new God, was to create an Angel. God had created all Angels – they called him 'Father'. He didn't want someone else's bastard sons and daughters to call his own – no, his would be stronger, and better; new, more powerful creatures in their own rights.

He would place his own children among these; fill their ranks with claws and fangs and impenetrable skin. He would give them strengths far beyond the Archangels with none of the weakness of their breed.

"Soon," he whispered to himself, to the souls rolling around inside of him. "Soon, this place shall be your home." He smiled, cocking his head to one side, and withdrew from the Host. "Heaven. Wouldn't that be nice?"

The souls swirled on, a massive maelstrom inside of Castiel, desperate and aching to be free, to get out, without a care for the body who wore them.

 

 

 

   
   
Dean could remember every single time Sam and he had tried splitting up, for various reasons – they were each other's weaknesses, they just didn't trust each other anymore, they wanted different things… - he just never, _never_ would have thought _he'd_ be the one to walk away. The one to turn his back and just…leave.

He didn't know how Sam had done it. It was four in the morning on the night Dean had left, the soft snores of the wolves on the second bed the only sound in the otherwise silent room, and all Dean could do was lie awake, sleepless after the two or three hours he had spent with his son in the dream-glade, and think about calling Sam. Damn it, he _missed_ Sam. It felt like a physical weight on his chest, preventing him from breathing properly. He felt nauseous with worry and grief over just leaving like that – Sam didn't deserve that, and neither did Bobby.

There was a disturbance in the air, the sound of swords sliding together, and Dean opened his eyes, sitting up and looking around the room, dimly lit from the motel sign outside.

Castiel was there – of course he was. The God was looking around the room, eyes narrowed as he took in Dean's sigils of protection against demons, before fixing eyes on Dean that, in the low light, looked demon-black. An involuntary shudder ran up Dean's spine.

"Hey, Cas," he whispered, not wanting to wake the wolves.

Castiel smiled, and suddenly he was lying in the bed next to Dean, propped up on one elbow and pushing a cold hand against Dean's chest, forcing him to lie down also so Castiel could see his face. His back was to the wolves, the deity's face illuminated by the dull lights outside and Dean sucked in a breath.

Castiel looked…the same. That was, of course, a given. But he just looked like…the _worst_ part of the same. His eyes were sunken, his skin paler than normal, his lips thin and dry. "Cas?" Dean whispered, asked even though it felt _wrong_ of him to address this thing as Castiel when he was almost positive he carried the Angel's essence inside of him.

The deity smiled, leaning down to nose against Dean's mouth and Dean closed his eyes, sighing softly as he let him in. Castiel tasted of ash and wood smoke, like the breath of someone after that first cigarette and the scent of burning rubber in the air. The hand that had been on Dean's chest trailed lower, fingers splaying out wide as he found the flat expanse of Dean's stomach, and Dean had to fight the urge to suck in a breath, to get his child away from the danger of its own father – was it even…God, his head hurt too much to think about it.

"Once you are settled," Castiel whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth, "I will move this pregnancy forward. I do not want you suffering for longer than necessary – I do not want to have to trap your friend and brother longer than necessary."

Dean trembled underneath the God's gentle touch, his voice deceptively light. Dean didn't know what to make of it.

"The sooner this Alpha is born, the sooner I can lay with you again," he continued, and Dean closed his eyes, biting his lip when he felt his body start to respond to the idea of receiving more of Castiel's seed – it made his cheeks flame in embarrassment and humiliation, knowing he responded so eagerly, but if what Gabriel had said was true – that he was really becoming the All-Mother – it made sense, to want to mate so eagerly, to accept such a powerful creature so readily. He bit his lip when Castiel's hand trailed lower still, the God pressing a soft smile against Dean's cheek, eyes half-lidded and flashing black with fangs and claws as he cupped a hand between Dean's legs, able to feel the first eddies of damp soaking the back of his boxers.

 _"Cas_ ," Dean gasped out, not wanting to wake his slumbering pack on the other bed but unable to keep his noises contained, as he arched up, grabbing desperately at the deity's body to pull him on top of Dean, letting Castiel lay between his legs once more.

"Look how eager you are," he whispered, smiling again more widely before meeting Dean in another kiss. His nimble, clever fingers dipped under the waistband of Dean's boxers, fingers sliding slickly between Dean's cheeks and across his leaking hole. Dean clenched his eyes tightly shut, unsure he could cope with seeing the face of the being he'd once loved, and how it had changed to something so dark and evil. "Look, Dean… _look at me_."

The growl was soul-deep and ricocheted through Dean. The Hunter gasped, eyes flaring open and staring into an abyssal gaze. Castiel pressed their lips together once more, driving Dean's mouth open with his tongue while his fingers dipped inside of the All-Mother's eager, wet body, and Dean moaned softly, muffling the sound against Castiel's mouth, as he wrapped his arms around the creature's shoulders and rolled his hips, trying to get Castiel deeper.

"Patience, patience," Castiel murmured, and Dean didn't even know if he was talking to Dean, the souls, or himself anymore – fuck, did it even _matter_?

"Inside," he whispered, trying to push at Castiel's clothes, to get them _off_. "Please, Cas, please – inside me. Now. Need…"

Castiel smiled, rearing up, and pressed a finger against Dean's lips. He shushed Dean quietly, adding a second and then a third finger inside of the All-Mother, and when he found Dean's prostate he pressed against it mercilessly.

Dean moaned loudly, biting his lip to try and muffle the sound as he arched back, grabbing at his pillows and sheets. He couldn't look away from the lust-black hue of Castiel's eyes, watching how his eyes flashed blue occasionally, or a deep yellow like a cat's. When he bared his teeth, he had more than one set.

Something inside of Dean seemed to flare up – he couldn't identify it if he tried; it started as a warm feeling in his gut, uncoiling like a giant leaden snake that had slept in fire, and reared up his spine, into his heart. He cried out, loudly enough that he was sure he'd woken the wolves by now, his orgasm getting ripped out of him as the sensation spread all through his body, burning his shoulder and heart and gut.

Through it all, Castiel was smiling, and when Dean was done, he pulled his soaking fingers from Dean's slick, open body, and licked his hand clean. The action, Dean thought, reminded him of a cat grooming itself, and not for the first time he wondered just how many species Castiel had inside of him, fighting for dominance now that the consciousness that had driven all of him forward was gone.

Dean was still panting, trembling from the combination of Castiel's freezing presence and his recent orgasm, when Castiel leaned down to steal his breath in a kiss. One of the God's hands stroked through Dean's hair, hard enough to force his head back, and Dean gasped, arching so that he wouldn't cause unnecessary pain in his neck.

"I shall visit you again when you are settled," Castiel whispered, and Dean thought he could fairly _taste_ the creature's eagerness. "It won't be long now, beloved. Soon…" He paused, leaning up to look Dean in the eye. "Soon, the world will be ours."

Dean nodded, eyes wide, biting his kiss-swollen lips, and tried not to think too hard about what that would mean.  
 

 

 

 

   
"Business or pleasure?" Crowley smirked to himself, sitting back in his thick, padded leather chair, daintily sipping at a glass of brandy as he listened to the other voice on the end of the line;

"Thought I'd give you a head's up," came Bobby Singer's low, exasperated voice. "I think God's put you on the top of his 'Most Wanted'."

"Me?" Crowley paused, eyes flashing up to the blank wall on the opposite side of his little abode. He traced the curve of the sigils, biting his lower lip as he assessed the exact position of the sigils in correspondence to each other – even an inch off, and he would be screwed. He kept his voice perfectly light; "Oh, I don't think so. What could good ol' Holy Cas ever want with me?"

"Don't play coy, Crowley," Bobby snapped. "I'm just warnin' ya – he seemed pretty…resigned, last time we spoke."

Crowley paused. "Oh," he said, sitting up slightly, the chair creaking underneath him as he set his brandy down. "You've spoken with him?"

Bobby sighed. "Don't even know why I bothered…" he muttered, barely loud enough to hear. "You keep workin' on gettin' us out of here, you got me?"

"Understood, General," Crowley answered sarcastically, smirking in pleasure again when Bobby gave an annoyed huff. "Almost there," the demon continued, pushing himself to his feet from his chair and heading over to an open spell book, where the twin of the sigil painted on the wall lay. He checked over the measurements and specifications again, smiling in satisfaction. "Don't you worry. All of this will be over very soon."

Then, he hung up.

"Well," Bobby muttered, setting the phone down and looking over to Sam. "That sounded like a whole new batch of Hell."  
 

 

 

 

   
Dean woke up to a gentle touch on his forehead. He opened his eyes and they immediately widened, and he scrambled back on the bed without thinking, looking up into a face he didn't recognize.

Except… _"Aaron?"_ he hazarded, not daring to believe that it was the wolf standing in front of him.

The kid didn't look old. At all. In fact, he might have _just_ passed for the legal drinking age, which didn't make sense to Dean at all. The werewolf smiled a little, his warm eyes bright and hazel, the same as his wolf form's, and dipped his head slightly, letting the fringe of jet black hair fall in front of his eyes. He looked thin, but his shoulders were broad and the muscles in his arms and legs were definitely there –a testament to running a lot in his wolf form. His smile was a little crooked.

He reminded Dean of Adam. A little.

"What are…" Dean paused, wiping a hand over his face, and took in the sight of the wolf again. "Where did you get those clothes?"

Aaron looked down at himself, and then shrugged. "They were here when we woke up," he said. "Leah found them in the bathroom."

Dean swallowed, knowing Castiel must have left them there – there were probably clothes for all the wolves, and Dean too – anything and everything he could need. He flushed, biting his lip when he shifted on his bed and realized that Castiel must have _actually_ visited him last night – and the damp patch between his legs was further evidence.

"How…" He paused, swallowing again, and cleared his throat. "How did you sleep?"

Aaron smiled brightly at him. "Very well, Alpha. What about you?"

Dean stared at him for a long moment, and the wolf just blinked and held his gaze – maybe staring matches were common in things that didn't really have souls. Or at least, weren't human. He sighed, throwing his blankets off, not caring if Aaron saw the dark stain of his unnatural wetness on the bed, and stood up, rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair.

"I'm going to take a shower," he said, and Aaron nodded, smiling. Leah and Jeremy were in the bathroom when Dean came in and cleared out to give him space on his own. Eric, they told him, was out getting breakfast, and though Dean really _hoped_ that meant actual human food, he couldn't deny that he felt a certain clench of anticipation in his stomach, thinking of perhaps some kind of raw kill that the wolves might drag in from the trees, not far from this town.

It felt weird, having a 'human' face call him Alpha – for some reason, coming from a wolf, it made sense. But Dean wasn't meant to be 'Alpha' of humans – hell, he wasn't even Alpha at all. He was just pregnant with one.

Thinking about that, Dean shucked off his clothes, stepping into the shower and turning it on. His hand fell, without thinking, to his stomach, which soon, he knew, would swell and get huge with a half-wolf-half-Angel baby, and…it wasn't natural, but Dean still couldn't fight off this little feeling that maybe 'unnatural' was okay. Didn't have to mean _bad_. Just…different.

He sighed, running his palm over his stomach, and closed his eyes, just letting the hot water run over him. He'd missed being warm – being really hot. Castiel never ran hot. At least, the thing that was wearing Castiel's skin was never warm. At all. The Angel had been warm enough – Dean remembered the feeling of Castiel's fingers curling around his wrist, or his arm around Dean's torso or neck, pulling him to safety or running from whorehouses.

 _God,_ he missed Cas.

The weird feeling was starting to build up again – like that warm metal snake inside of his chest. He gasped, fingers curling into a fist over his stomach as the sensation spread up his spine and through his body. Though Dean didn't have a mirror and couldn't see it, he _knew_ that something was going on behind his eyes – he could feel this… _brightness_ in his skull. He felt like he was standing in front of a dying Angel, feeling their Grace explode outwards and _through_ him.

Then, all too soon, the feeling was gone, leaving Dean feeling breathless and weak. He trembled, shoving at the handle of the shower until the water stopped flowing, and stepped out. True to what Aaron had told him, there was a closet in the bathroom that looked like it was built into the wall. Inside Dean found a lot of his old clothes, as well as several others that were different sizes that he assumed were for Eric, Jeremy, Leah and Aaron. Quickly he donned some clean clothes and stuffed several more outfits into a duffle bag that he'd found at the bottom of the closet. Already he felt better – there was something about a hastily packed duffle that just screamed 'I have a plan'.

Eric, Jeremy and Leah remained as wolves, and scattered to surround the area as Dean repacked the Impala and headed back onto the highway, Aaron in his passenger seat. Pathetic as it sounded, Dean didn't like it – sure, he wasn't as lonely with Aaron's presence by his side, but…the wolf didn't fall asleep on the window and drool onto the seat. The wolf didn't stare at Dean as though trying to see into his very soul. Aaron didn't complain about how loud the music was or say anything aside from when Dean had to make a turn or go onto a different road. And even then, it was mostly through mental communication.

Aaron was…too quiet. But he was company. And Dean wasn't going to spit on that.  
 

 

 

 

   
The King of Hell stood before the horde, and smiled. They were afraid – that was good, they should be. And they were bored; with his new development of Hell there was a lot less…shall we say, 'interesting' torture, and he knew a lot of his brethren were all but champing at the bit, ready to be unleashed onto the Earth and those beyond, who had sent them here.

"The next lunar eclipse will be soon," he told them, listening to the murmurs of excitement and bloodlust. "In a week's time."

The hisses and growls of anticipation from so many mouths was almost deafening.

A demon frowned, glowing to get attention as it looked up at its King. "Not for months," it replied, arguing, eyes black and teeth flashing fangs behind its lips. "There is not another one for -."

The demon fell abruptly silent, and the horde turned to look at their King, who was watching the creature impassively as it spluttered, choking around its own essence, and died. Crowley had hardly lifted a finger.

He sighed again, raising a brow and daring anyone else to argue. "The next lunar eclipse _will be in a week's time_ ," he repeated, letting the horde know that it _would_ happen, whether they thought so or not. "You have that long to gather your strength and your armies. I expect full reports by tomorrow night." He paused, smiling. "Well, off you go."  
 

 

 

 

   
Castiel stumbled, feeling the incredible influx of power around him. His eyes widened and he gazed down from Heaven, watching the Earth for a long moment. It was still, silent, floating without a care through the vast expanse of space.

He cast his gaze a little more outward, seeing the entire planet and the tiny piece of insignificant rock spinning around it, and paused. It was…gaining speed. Going faster, slowly, to try and overtake itself and reach the sun.

Castiel's eyes widened again, and then he growled.

"Well played."  
 

 

 

 

   
Dean looked up – the sky, which had until recently been very blue and almost annoyingly cheerful and optimistic, was rapidly darkening with storm clouds, spreading out behind them like a giant black hand was trying to cover them up. He swallowed when the first drops of rain began to hit the windshield, almost cracking the glass with the amount of force with which they fell.

"Something's happening," he murmured, and Aaron nodded. Then Dean paused, a thought occurring to him. "Call the others. They shouldn't be out in that."

The wolves all clambered into the backseat and Dean turned up the heat in the car as they changed into their naked human forms, pressing together for warmth. Only Aaron took the form of a wolf, his dry fur providing a good blanket for his brethren as he lay across their laps, and the male wolves took shirts from Dean's duffle to cover themselves and Leah wrapped a blanket around her upper half.

"Everyone okay?" Dean asked, picking up speed with the Impala again and trying to outrun the storm. They all nodded, silent as anything, and Dean swallowed, stepping on the gas and listening to his girl fly. Something _big_ was happening – everything that had been building up was starting to fall into place. Dean could feel that certainty like a lead ball in his chest and it unnerved him.

Beside him, still on the seat, his phone buzzed.


	18. You Don't Get Another Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  Crowley gazed with a cold kind of apathy on the sinking world – speeding up the moon wasn't without consequences, after all. Shame about all the millions of souls destined for Hell flooding into his arsenal. Sigh – whatever was he going to do with them all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Due to developments in 7x01, nothing shall be different. I'm going to write exactly what I planned to and let's see how similar they are. *rubs hands together*

Crowley gazed with a cold kind of apathy on the sinking world – speeding up the moon wasn't without consequences, after all. Shame about all the _millions_ of souls destined for Hell flooding into his arsenal. Sigh – whatever was he going to do with them all?

He had his numbers – more than one hundred thousand demons were ready to launch right now and there were more coming in, drafted from Earth to serve in Hell's armies. Soon he would have an entire horde – soon, he would have a legion.

It would have been plain short-sighted of him to retrieve merely the bare minimum from the Purgatory native – Crowley had pints of blood of the native, stored away in a secret place that he presumed only he knew about. Virgin blood, too, was not hard to come by, at all. Though with the sweeping 'doomsday' paranoia across the nation, young girls were becoming sluts left, right and centre.

It was almost funny.

He looked over the sigils painted onto the wall of his little abode. Raphael had drawn them the first time but Crowley was good at copying things from memory, and he was almost positive that he had it right – with a few adjustments. With his alterations to the spell and sigil, he knew he would be able to control what exited and entered this realm; for instance, some new deity might find himself a few thousand souls shorts, while the King of Hell would be able to make himself a few thousand richer.

Or perhaps even bigger than that.

"Now, now," he scolded himself, chuckling, eyes flashing black as he turned back to his books. "Let's not get too ambitious." He looked back to the sigil, lips curving up in a smirk. He had everything he needed – all that remained now was the true keeper of the souls; the true leader and creator.

The All-Mother.

   
  
  


Dean knew immediately when he woke up that Castiel had already sped up his pregnancy somewhat – the third day of his separation from Sam, the third morning after the second night, he awoke with nausea the likes of which he had never felt before – it was like the last thousand hangovers coming back to bite him in the ass as he ran, panting, to the bathroom, falling to his knees in front of the toilet bowl and emptying the meager contents of his stomach into it with a sickening wet sound.

His body felt like it was burning up, sweat gathering at his temples from fever as he braced his forearm across the back of the seat, leaning his forehead against it and trying to breathe through his mouth until the nausea passed. His other hand, through a will of its own, moved down and pressed against his stomach.

His fingers curled around the very beginnings of a swell.

He closed his eyes. _"Damn it_."

"Alpha, are you alright?" came Aaron's voice, the wolf's body eclipsing the doorway and Dean turned his head, wincing at the bright sunlight coming in from behind the wolf, silhouetting him and hurting Dean's eyes.

"M'fine," he muttered, swallowing back the taste of bile in his mouth – already the nausea was beginning to pass and, while Dean's stomach was still rolling in unease, he didn't think he was going to throw up again. "S'normal, right?"

Aaron's eyes widened in understanding, and the wolf fell to his knees in front of Dean, an awed expression on his face. "Alpha…" he murmured, reaching forward and touching three shaking fingertips to Dean's cheek, down the curve of his jaw – Dean wanted to shy away from it, unused to something so warm touching him with any measure of affection for so long, but before he could Aaron seemed to realize what he was doing, and withdrew with a guilty expression.

He stood. "You should come see this," he said, and then turned away and headed back into the main part of the motel room. Forcing himself onto unsteady legs, Dean followed.

Leah was flicking through TV channels;

_"Mass floods are being reported along the entire East Coast – here are some satellite pictures of New York and Miami, which as you can see -."_

_"I've never seen anything like it. These hugs waves just came out of nowhere -."_

_"So far, no one can explain -."_

_"Is this part of the 2012 doomsday -?"_

Leah clicked the TV off, and the wolves stared at Dean, who was watching the black screen wide-eyed. He swallowed, pressing his lips together – he should…he should call someone. Figure out what was going on; this shit wasn't natural. He thought they were _done_ with the world ending.

"Damn it," he whispered again, and then went over to his phone. Flipping it open, he realized there were several dozen missed calls and messages from Sam. He hadn't even realized his phone had been ringing.

Quickly, he flipped it open and dialed Sam's number. Static. Bobby's too.

The air was cut in half by silver-iron wings and Dean looked up, moving his phone from his face when he saw Castiel standing in front of him, a flat, unreadable expression in his eyes. Dean swallowed, licking his lips in nervousness when the deity's gaze flashed down to his stomach, then back up to his face; there was an emotion there, something that terrified Dean – it was like the most absurd, _evil_ kind of _pleasure_ at seeing Dean beginning to swell with child; it made a terrified shudder skitter up and down Dean's spine, and his gut seemed to burn as his breath misted in the air.

Dean suddenly became aware of a low growling sound, and blinked away from Castiel, to see the wolves staring at the two of them. They had all changed into their animal forms, upper lips curling back to reveal backward-facing, pointed teeth and parted jaws. Their eyes flashed with aggression, hackles raising, body language on the offensive.

Castiel met their gazes head-on and Dean shuddered at the sound of wings unfurling, swords being slid from sheaths and he imagined Castiel's wings raising high, spreading out in aggression and dominance – he didn't understand what was happening, why Castiel was facing off with the wolves if he was the one who sent them, who allowed them to free Dean from Bobby's house.

He had to do something, though – Castiel had that look in his eyes that he used to, when he was about to smite someone, or right before he blew Raphael to smithereens. Dean couldn't let that happen.

"Cas," he whispered, catching the creature's attention, and took a step towards him.

The God's eyes flashed towards him and his demeanor seemed to relax, somewhat – he held out a hand to Dean, who took it, and let himself be drawn into Castiel's embrace, shivering when the creature's cold arms wrapped around him.

"What's going on, Cas?" he asked, feeling small and fragile in the deity's arms. His stomach was burning him, feeling like heartburn or acid reflux – like he was reacting badly to something he'd eaten. Not even Castiel's cold touch on his body was soothing the ache. "I can't reach Sam and Bobby. Are they okay?"

"Yes," the God answered without hesitation, stroking a hand through Dean's hair. "They are safe."

Dean paused, pulling back from Castiel a little, only the God didn't let him go far, his fingers locking like vices around Dean's arms. The Hunter frowned at him. "I can't _call_ them," he said again, shaking his head and jerking his head towards the TV since his arms were otherwise occupied; "The whole damn world's becoming a puddle. How can they be _safe_?"

Castiel's eyes flashed slate-grey. "I have it under control," he said tersely, cocking his head to one side and smiling, just a little.

Dean swallowed – God, it felt like he was being stabbed in the stomach with a hot knife. "Let me help you, damn it," he growled, leaning close again and fisting his hands in the lapels of Castiel's blood spattered trench coat – he didn't want to think about whose or what's blood that was. "Let me call Sam."

"I'm not preventing you from reaching him."

His voice was too flat – too… _calm_. Dean gasped, sweat breaking out along his forehead again – he felt fevered, achy, _empty_. But it wasn't the kind of ache like what he felt for Castiel, for the creature's seed to satisfy his need to mate – no, it was… _different_.

It was like the ache he had felt when he'd almost said 'Yes' to Michael – when he had been able to feel the Archangel's glowing caress on the side of his face, feel the gentle pressure on his mouth and against his heart, to be filled, to be completed – it was the glow of an Angel behind his eyes and the scream of one in his ears.

It felt _wrong_ , to be in this _thing's_ arms and to be feeling like this.

Dean shoved back from Castiel again, this time more forcefully, but couldn't go far – Castiel's arms caged him in and locked him down. "Let go of me," he growled, putting as much force into his voice as he could when he felt a moment away from falling to his knees.

Abruptly Castiel's touch was gone, and Dean stumbled, just managing to catch himself on the corner of a bed. He raised his head, looking up into Castiel's narrowed eyes.

The deity's lips were thinned in displeasure, a low growl echoing under his voice; "I recognize you," he whispered, cocking his head to one side. The heat inside of Dean flared up, aggressive, rebellious and defiant and his eyes widened, feeling like he was choking, because this _wasn't his emotion_. He _knew_ that.

Castiel took a step forward, his palm glowing and burning with Purgatory fire as he raised it towards Dean's head, and then…everything happened all at once. Dean knew he couldn't have stopped it but it didn't stop it from being any less horrible.

Jeremy and Eric both attacked Castiel at once, Aaron flanking his side with his body to protect Dean's sight from what was to follow. The wolves, with low snarls and anger-filled roars, launched themselves onto Castiel, throwing and pinning him to the ground. Jeremy's teeth sank into the burning flesh of Castiel's arm, and he immediately yelped at the inside of his mouth was singed and burned to a crisp. Castiel snarled, throwing the wolf off of him as Eric clawed at his clothes, and his burning palm landed on the wolf's scruff – the scent of burning fur was sickening as Castiel yanked at Eric's neck, snapping it without a thought, and rolled the dead wolf off of his body and back onto his feet, ready to face Jeremy.

The wolf snarled again, teeth blackened and crumbling, tongue burned to nothing, and flung himself at Castiel again, but the deity merely waved his hand and the wolf's body exploded in a grotesque shower of flesh and blood. None of it hit Dean or Castiel, Jeremy's steaming bones falling limply to the floor with minimal chunks of flesh still on it, bright white bone gleaming through as though already bleached by the desert sun.

Nausea roiled in Dean's gut and he clutched at his stomach, staring disbelievingly up at Castiel, who was regarding the dead wolves with his mouth twisted in disgust. Then, he knelt down in front of Eric's body and, with his bare hands, ripped the carcass open. Thick, red blood spilled out over his fingers and he raised it to his lips, sucking them dry.

The scent of wolf blood was strong in the room – Aaron remained by Dean's side, curled up against the Hunter's body as Dean just…sat, staring. He couldn't believe what he was seeing – couldn't believe that Castiel could just _kill_ the wolves like that.

His eyes trailed down Castiel's hunched form, to Eric's dead and mangled body, and he swallowed back the powerful surge of lust and hunger that spiked within him – it was similar to when he had borne the vampire child, his mouth watering at the very scent of blood. He had to assume it was the wolf desire for raw meat, but he knew it was just a step beyond too fucked up to want to resort to a very roundabout form of cannibalism.

It was _wrong_. God, all of this was so wrong.

"Why?" he asked, unable to tear his eyes away from Castiel when the creature sat up, blood smeared across his cheeks and jaw, up his arms, staining his clothes. Castiel merely blinked at him. "God _damn_ it, Cas…"

The creature's eyes narrowed, and suddenly he was in front of Dean, crouching over the Hunter's legs – Aaron snarled at him but Dean quickly fisted a hand in the wolf's fur, willing and begging him silently to stand down because he couldn't lose another…God help him… _child_ , to this monster.

Castiel's eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head to one side. "I thought you were gone," he murmured, eyes flashing down to Dean's stomach, reaching forward to flatten his palm over the Hunter's swollen middle. When he smiled his teeth were lined with red. "You will need stronger protectors. I'll see what I can do about that."

He stood, then, trench coat swishing into place around him, and waved a hand. Jeremy and Eric's bodies disappeared as though they had never been – Aaron remained a stoic presence next to him, Leah cowering away from Castiel between the two beds. Castiel looked over to her, expression twisted in derision, and raised a hand.

"Don't!" Dean cried out, finally managing to struggle to his feet. His fingers closed around Castiel's hand and he was mildly surprised to find that it didn't burn him to touch Castiel's skin. The creature narrowed his eyes at him. "Please. Don't hurt them."

The idea that Castiel could kill the rest of the wolves – that he _would_ , without a second thought – conjured the same kind of sick, horrified feeling that Dean had felt when thinking about killing his own child; the one growing inside of him. Perhaps it was a weird loophole of the vow – perhaps being the All-Mother meant that all creatures were his children and that he must protect them all.

Even from their Father.

"I trust you." The words tasted like poison on Dean's tongue, as he stepped closer and watched at the cold slate of the creature's gaze melted, became heated with the fire of lust and pleasure. Dean looked down, pressing his palm flat against the rips in Castiel's clothes. His hand came back bloody and he frowned. "They hurt you."

Castiel took Dean's hand in his own. "It is not of import."

Those words – _God_ , _Castiel_ …

The creature swallowed Dean's gentle sob in a kiss, pressing their mouths together chastely, his hands moving down to cup the swell of Dean's stomach. It was almost sweet, like how people in love would kiss if one of them wasn't a God and the other wasn't so damn afraid.

When they broke apart, Castiel smiled slightly. "Do you love me, Dean?" he whispered.

Dean closed his eyes, leaning forward so his forehead rested against Castiel's shoulder, and he reached down, lacing his fingers with Castiel's over his stomach.

"Yes," he whispered, and he wasn't sure if Castiel knew he wasn't talking about the thing standing in front of him. Those cold fingers tightened around Dean's and the burn grew more powerful, more violent.

 _Please_ , Dean thought to himself, to his child, to the God he knew had never been there, _just let it be over soon._

  
  
  
  


"He's still not picking up his damned phone." Frustrated, Sam snapped his phone shut with a low growl and threw it onto Bobby's coffee table, glaring at the thing as though daring it to tell him that, yet again, his brother's phone had gone to voicemail.

"Something must be up," Bobby said, brushing a hand through his hair and sighing heavily, and Sam flashed lost, young eyes up at him.

"A lot of things are up, aren't they?" he whispered, sounding young and scared and Bobby nodded.

"The Flood," the older Hunter declared solemnly, opening up the large tome in front of him and pushing it towards Sam. "You saw the news – it's damn near Biblical, the amount of water being pushed into land right now. Florida's a puddle and Australia no longer exists."

"This is not the Flood." The two men looked up as Gabriel flared into existence in the room – the Archangel looked…almost normal. Color had returned to his vessel, his outline a lot less fuzzy now. Sam frowned in confusion and Gabriel gestured to himself. "Angel of Death, remember? Death makes me strong." He shrugged. "Anyway, it's not the Flood."

"Sure as Hell looks like it," Bobby said in his 'Well tell me what it _is,_ smartass' tone.

Gabriel rolled his bright eyes. "The moon," he replied curtly, moving forward and propping himself up against Bobby's table, legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded, looking at first Sam, then Bobby over his shoulder. "Someone's sped it up – tidal waves, ocean currents. All of it's getting messed up."

Sam's eyes widened. "Who has the power to move the _moon_?" he asked, hardly believing.

Gabriel held up three fingers. "Who wants to cause the end of the world?" He laid one finger down. "Who has the means to cause the end of the world?" The last finger remained standing. "What would that person do with all those souls flooding him?" He pointed towards Bobby's phone, which immediately began to ring.

The older Hunter stared at it for a moment, before he cautiously leaned forward and picked it up. Sam flashed wary eyes Gabriel's way and the Archangel met his eyes for a moment.

"Crowley?" Bobby asked, incredulous and wondering why the demon was calling him, already putting together that this was who Gabriel must have been talking about.

There was a pause. "What's the catch?" Another. "That's all?" One more, and Bobby's mouth thinned out into a line. "Alright." Then, he hung up.

"What's going on?" Sam demanded – the phone hadn't even clicked into place before he spoke.

Bobby sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Crowley thinks he can get us out of here," he said, eyes flashing to Gabriel for a moment before looking back to Sam, "on one condition. We bring Dean to him."

Sam's brow furrowed. "For what?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Of course, we hashed out all the plans at each other's sleepovers." Sam swallowed back his instinctive retort against the jibe. "Does it matter? I sure as Hell ain't servin' Dean up to Crowley on a silver platter. Are you?"

"Of course not," Sam bit out, "but I want to know what he wants and why he thinks we can help him."

"Castiel probably has him on total surveillance," Gabriel murmured, closing his eyes for a moment as he sent his gaze outward, taking in the state of the world. So much death and fear…it was a demon's playground. "Regardless," he continued, "someone is going to find your brother, Sam." He looked to the younger Winchester. "Wouldn't you rather it was the right people?"

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and nodded. "Will you help us?"

Gabriel grinned and got to his feet. "I'm done playing referee," he said, clapping his hands together. "Hitch up your pants, boys, it's gonna be a bumpy ride."

   
  
  


"Why?" Dean demanded of Aaron and Leah, when it was just the three of them in the Impala and Dean had had time to think and recover from what he had just seen. He turned to look at the two wolves in the backseat through his rear-view mirror. "Why would you let them attack him like that? What would _possess_ you to do that?"

"He was hurting you, Alpha," Aaron replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Dean's jaw clenched and he stared straight ahead of himself again. His baby mewled underneath him as he forced her to fly faster – he wanted to be _there_ so he could be _done_ and just give birth and get this _thing_ out of him – it felt like he was being burned from the inside and nothing he tried was making it stop.

"A lot of things hurt," he muttered instead, knuckles clenching white on the steering wheel. "But he's…damn it, he's _God_. You need to obey him."

"He's not our Alpha," Aaron protested.

"Well then obey _me_!" Dean snarled, a surge of anger making the words snap out harsher than he'd meant them, without permission from his brain; "If I'm your Goddamn Alpha then I say you will submit to and love Castiel like I do – he killed _two_ of your brothers today. He would have offed Leah too had I not talked him down." He swallowed, his other hand joining the first on the wheel, and he forced his car to go even faster. The engine was whining underneath him.

"You'll show him some Goddamn respect."

Dean could feel the eyes of the wolves on the back of his head but he refused to fold – he would _not_ watch more of his children die like that, at the hands of their Father, and he knew how fucked up that whole sentence just sounded but he couldn't _not_ think that way…like it wasn't even an option anymore.

Finally, Aaron sighed and dipped his eyes in obedience. "Yes, Alpha."  



	19. Just Gonna Stand There And Watch Me Burn?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  "Don't you want to feel your wings again? When I lost mine…" Castiel looked down, biting his lip, holding the bright ball of energy and divinity close. "It was awful. I don't want that for you – I've never wanted it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Alright, I've gotten impatient to finish this, and I know you've been impatient for me to finish it too. So, we're time skipping _very_ slightly, but I talk about it in the fic so hopefully no one will be confused :D My attention span for this has been atrocious, so I'm so sorry it took so long.

Gabriel froze, a shiver running up his spine when he felt the powerful presence of his once-brother saturate the air around him. He turned his head towards the deity to find Castiel smiling at him. "Hey, bro," he said, faking casualness. "What can I do ya for?"

"I have a gift for you," Castiel murmured, and that was when Gabriel realized that Castiel was holding something, his hands locked together in front of his chest and holding something, as though he was covering a butterfly or small animal, holding it with the utmost care.

The God's eyes flashed when he took a step forward, looking towards his brother. "You're getting stronger," he murmured. "The deaths in the world are making you…more." He smiled. "Soon, my son's birth will make you complete, make you…almost perfect again."

Gabriel swallowed, nodding – he knew. The deaths caused by the global tidal changes and floods had flowed into him, making him stronger. He was a dozen lives away from being himself again.

The deity took another step towards Gabriel, his fingers parting just slightly, and Gabriel could see the bright, almost blinding glow of an Angel's Grace, held within the palms of Castiel's hands. His eyes widened and he took a step back.

"Who did that use to be?" he demanded, gesturing towards the Grace with an almost horrified expression, and Castiel's lips quirked up further in a lopsided smile.

"Does it matter?" he asked, making up for the distance and closing in, his large metallic wings arching up high over Gabriel's body and forcing the two beings closer together – without his wings or his blade, Gabriel had nowhere to run. "Don't you want it?" Castiel's bright blue eyes flashed for a moment, in what looked like genuine hurt, but Gabriel wasn't drawn in by it – this Castiel was a master liar, a creature driven purely by whatever instinct and mad intent it had and he wouldn't be above giving away tainted Grace. "Don’t you want to feel your wings again? When I lost mine…" Castiel looked down, biting his lip, holding the bright ball of energy and divinity close. "It was awful. I don't want that for you – I've never wanted it."

Gabriel bit his lip – the return of his wings would help greatly in his mission, and he wondered if Castiel knew that. If he knew about the plan he, Sam and Bobby had concocted – 'plan' being a loose term – and was trying to sabotage it somehow. Gabriel had spent too long being a Trickster to underestimate the depth and complexity of a person's schemes.

But he did want to fly. And the Grace seemed whole, unhurt, unmarred. He held out a hand. "May I?" he asked, and Castiel smiled and placed the ball of Grace in Gabriel's hand. The Archangel stiffened slightly, feeling the pulse of energy and light that he once used to be. He wanted it. He wanted it more than he could ever say.

He turned hazel eyes back onto his once-brother. "Why are you giving me this?"

Castiel blinked, and then he smiled. "An Angel cannot be an Angel without Grace," he said brightly, no hint of deception or guile in his eyes. Reluctantly, knowing this would probably be a very, _very_ bad idea, Gabriel lifted the Grace to his mouth, and swallowed it.

   
  
  


"Alright," Bobby said, walking to his desk and clearing it off of a single large book, putting in its place a map of the United States and weighing it down at the four corners. "If we're gonna go through with this fool plan of saving your brother and the world, we gotta find him first."

"Gabriel can do it," Sam said, frowning slightly before turning to the image of the Angel. Gabriel had, in the past day, solidified completely. He was as real as Sam or Bobby, now.

The Archangel shook his head. "You guys still have the sigils on your ribs," he explained, spreading out his hands in a helpless gesture. "I wouldn't be able to hear or find Dean unless he specifically prayed for me, and we both know that ain't gonna happen."

Both Sam and Bobby nodded, understanding, before the Hunters and Angel gathered around the map. "I need something of Dean's," Bobby said, "that'll point to where he is. We're out of crystal but there's a modified spell that'll let us trace him through something he has particular attachment to."

"He didn't pack anything," Sam conceded, nodding. "I'll go through his stuff. See if I can find anything."

"I'll have a look around too," Gabriel added, pressing his lips together, and disappeared in a flutter of wings – his wings were back with the gift of new Grace from Castiel. It felt glorious to be able to fly again. Bobby nodded to Sam's back as he turned and left the room, twisting his mouth slightly as he looked back down at the map.

It gave him no answers, of course, but it would soon. He sighed, eyes roving over the state borders, the highways from his home, knowing Dean could have gone anywhere. His phone still wasn't working and the GPS was turned off, and putting out an APB on the Impala would only draw unwanted and unnecessary attention to something they needed to keep secret.

"Where are ya, boy?" he murmured, tracing one of the main roads south with his finger, before he sighed and gave up, leaving the room to find the rest of the implements he needed for the spell.

   
  
  


"So," Gabriel began, folding his arms and resting against the doorframe to Dean's room while he watched Sam begin the careful, awkward process of going through Dean's stuff. "You wanna talk?"

Sam paused, frowning over his shoulder at Gabriel, before picking up one of Dean's duffle bags and placing it on the bed, pulling out all the contents with an almost reverent care, like he didn't want to damage anything unintentionally. "Talk about what?"

"Your brother runs off with a pack of wolves, your friend becomes a God then a crazy monster that's not even close…the world is ending, and you don't hold the answer to saving it," Gabriel listed offhandedly, shrugging one shoulder. "I'm sure there are lots of things to talk about. But we could talk about something else. Mattresses, for instance – you like yours hard or on the soft side?"

Sam's nose wrinkled and he squinted his eyes at Gabriel. "What are you doing?" he asked.

The Archangel sighed, shaking his head and looking away. "I don't even know." Then, he paused. "You know there's something we can use, Sam," he added, fixing his dark hazel eyes back on the younger Winchester. "Why aren't you? Don't you want to find your brother?"

Sam's face at once became a mask. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Wordlessly, Gabriel held out his hand, and opened it. Hooked between his fore- and middle finger, dangling in the air, was Dean's amulet. At once Sam's eyes widened and he lunged, but Gabriel snatched it away, holding it carefully in his hands. "Give that back," Sam demanded harshly, holding his hand out for it.

"I know why you kept it," Gabriel whispered, as though he hadn't heard Sam. "I would have wanted to keep Michael's sword – his real one, that is. Or Lucifer's staff." He sighed, shrugging again, and held out the amulet to Sam, who took it away quickly and pocketed it. Wordlessly the Archangel watched him, waiting for an explanation.

Sam sighed, looking down and fidgeting with his fingers. "So, we'll find him," he murmured, biting his lip. "Then what? What can we _do_ , I mean… _really?_ When it comes right down to it, what can we do?"

"We fight," Gabriel bit out, pushing himself away from the doorframe and taking a step towards Sam. The Hunter's eyes met the Angel's, and Gabriel swore he'd never seen Sam look so young and lost. "We fight with everything we have and then more – for once, this is simple. This is easy. Your brother is being hunted by a demon – by someone even worse than me or, in some ways, the other monster that's been fucking and using him like he's worth nothing. You have been trapped here, forced to do nothing, cowed into submission, by the face of the thing that was once your friend." He paused, smiling a little, though it was a sad smile, and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "When we find Dean, and Castiel inside of him, and stop Crowley…you'll wonder how you ever asked that question."

"But _how_?" Sam whispered, tears beginning to gather in his eyes. He bit his lip, shaking his head so his hair fell forward to hide himself from the Angel's all-seeing gaze." _How_ can we stop it?"

Gabriel's smile grew a little. "You heard Cas," he said, releasing Sam's shoulder and stepping back. "The wolves will fight for him, and they will win." He paused. "I have faith, Sam Winchester, and I know you do too. I can still see it."

Sam looked up at him, the first few tears shining on his cheeks, and Gabriel's eyes were gentle. He took another step forward and placed his hand over Sam's still fidgeting ones. "Take the amulet to Bobby," he encouraged gently, ducking his head so Sam could fully see his face. "Help him save his pseudo-son, and your brother."

   
  
  


On the third day, Dean arrived in Ridgecrest, California – it was a small town in the middle of the desert, surrounded by mountains and flat lands as far as the eye could see. There were dark storm clouds overhead when Dean pulled into one of the small farms high up in the mountains, cutting the engine.

Aaron looked at him expectantly. "Are we here?" Dean asked, looking out of the front of the Impala's windshield and to the large house that stood in the middle of a well tended garden, surprisingly green for the time of year and location, the large face of the mountain rising up behind it. The wolf nodded, smiling, and they all got out of the car.

At once Dean was buffeted by the heat of the desert – it was the height of day, almost blistering hot, and for a moment he reveled in it; he had missed the feeling of being _too_ warm. He was more used to chill nowadays than anything else. The dry, scratchy heat of the desert as he took a deep breath, scented with sand and grasses, soothed him, melted away some of the tension.

He stepped into the house, looking around as he set his duffle down by the stairs. Aaron and Leah spread out, turning on the fans in the house and setting the thermostat to a lower setting. Dean watched.

"You guys live here?" he asked once they had seemed to settle, more comfortable in the space as the fans and air-con went to work on cooling the place down.

Aaron smiled. "This was my father's house, and I inherited it when he died. Two miles behind us the mountain stretches up high and is mostly hollow. The rest of the pack lives there."

"The rest of…" Dean trailed off, eyes widening. "How many _are_ you?" he asked.

Aaron paused, thinking for a moment. "A few hundred?" he asked, looking towards Leah to confirm. She smiled and nodded and Aaron nodded also. "A few hundred. Three, three-fifty." He shrugged and Dean swallowed, unable to imagine such a number of wolves in any one place. They could wipe out half of the United States with a number like that.

"And you all…how?" Dean asked, unable to put words to what he was thinking.

The wolf laughed, understanding his shock. "We've been turning people, Alpha," he said with a smile. "You will need protecting, and only the strongest will do – the largest army for our new Alpha." Shocked, almost horrified – everything making him a Hunter rebelling against the idea – Dean could only stare.

But there was another feeling, mixed with the fear and shock. It was…affection. Pride. He was _proud_ of his, dare he say it, _child_ for thinking of this, for being so prepared and…for _taking care of him_ while he was readying his brother and leader to come into the world. Driven by an instinct Dean didn't understand, the Hunter rose and stepped close to Aaron, wrapping his hand around the back of the wolf's neck, Leah's in the other. Both wolves immediately fell to their knees and the proud feeling in Dean grew.

"Thank you," was all he said, petting once through their hair, and let them go. They smiled and rose to their feet.

"Alpha, we have a room for you," Leah said, taking Dean's hand and pulling him towards the stairs, and Dean grabbed his duffle as he was led up. The house was just like any other typical Californian house – built strong in the foundations to withstand earthquakes, with large halls and hardwood floors. Dean's bedroom was at the end of the hallway on the top floor – Dean noticed it was as far away from the door as possible – and Leah smiled as she opened the door and waved him inside. It was nice, clean, minimally set up as though it was a show room just waiting for someone to move in and start living in it. The only personal touch Dean noticed was the sigil of protection carved into the back of the door. It made him smile.

"Thank you, Leah," he said, looking around and setting the duffle bag on the bed, and the she-wolf smiled, nodded, and left him to himself.

Dean set his duffle bag on the bed, looking around the place and, just because it seemed like the tiniest bit of normal he could scramble for in this situation, he set about putting more intricate and detailed sigils of protection and hiding over the room – he marked the giant window, carved a Devil's Trap onto the ceiling, and laid out salt lines across the room. He even went so far as to put a couple of hex bags into the wall.

When it was done, and many hours had passed, Dean was sweaty and tired, the subtle threat of nausea in his gut from pushing himself too hard after many days of doing absolutely nothing. He was already out of shape and his growing stomach was just threatening to push him further. He needed to rest and, looking outside and seeing it was only late afternoon, he threw his hunting knife back into the bag and set everything on the floor, stripping out of his clothes and sliding under the sheets. He could rest for a moment before he had to move again, to try and think out his next move.

Immediately after Dean pulled the covers around himself, his breath misted in the air in front of him and the room grew noticeably colder. Dean blinked his eyes open, suddenly no longer tired, and sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist.

"Was wondering when you'd show up," he muttered.

Castiel smiled, walking forward and sitting on the side of Dean's bed, leaning in to stroke a hand over the side of Dean's face. The gesture was affectionate and almost canine, and Dean couldn't help but lean into the touch, his eyes falling closed for a moment. "I am pleased with the place the wolves chose for you," Castiel whispered, his thumb tracing the line of Dean's mouth. "And the army they have built for you. It will serve you well."

Dean swallowed, averting his eyes from the creature-God's all-seeing blue. He didn't want to think about what kind of carnage that could happen if something went wrong, with so many wolves and then the town nearby. Or if the three-hundred-something wolves angered Castiel like in the motel.

"Will I need an army soon?" he asked, looking up again as Castiel's hand dropped from Dean's face. The God blinked, cocking his head to one side in thought.

His eyes narrowed as he spoke; "There are a lot of people who won't be happy," he said. "Powerful people." Dean's eyes widened, and he swallowed again when Castiel's eyes drifted down his naked chest, the God's cold fingertips landing against his slightly swollen stomach. The touch of his fingers felt like a lightning strike through Dean's heart, the Hunter tensing up as the feeling of _wrong_ and _fear_ flashed through him. Castiel smiled in triumph. "You will give birth by the end of the week. Time is running out, after all."

Without waiting for Dean to ask what he meant, Castiel reached for him again, two fingers extended. "Sleep now, Dean. The All-Mother needs his rest." And then everything went black.

   
  
  


The drawback with the altered spell was that it wasn't an instantaneous thing – it would actually take several hours for Dean's amulet – which Bobby carefully didn't mention – to hone in on the older Winchester's location. For hours it just spun vaguely around, suspended from a tri-pod, over the map, and Sam, Bobby and Gabriel spent their time hanging around, pretending to be busy.

"There," Gabriel whispered, finally, when the amulet stopped swinging. Immediately Sam got to his feet, bracing himself on the table and following the straight line of the amulet to where it was pointing.

"California?" Sam asked incredulously, frowning. "Why would Dean -?"

"We can ask him ourselves," Gabriel said primly, rubbing his hands together. "Pack a car, boys, and I'll fly us there. Come on, no time to waste."


	20. I Guess I Don't Know My Own Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  Dean remembered hearing his mother tell him that a mother always knew. Knew what, he never remembered her telling him. Not that it mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. SORRY FOR THE WAIT GUYS HAVE A LONG CHAPTER TO MAKE UP FOR IT. I haven't beta'd it at all 'cause I ran out of time. So I'll come back and fix what I see later. Enjoy!

Dean remembered, way in the vague parts of his memory that may be memory and may just be crazy half-wished dreams, he didn't care, hearing his mother tell him that a mother always knew. Knew what, he never remembered her telling him. Not that it mattered.

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and nothing he could think about or do was changing that. He felt it like a cold breeze coming on the wind or storm clouds gathering on the horizon – it was just a deep, heavy _certainty_ that something very bad was going to happen very soon.

But there was no one he could talk to about it – the wolves would provide him with no answer and it wasn't fair of him to laden them with his doubts and fears when they were doing their damnedest to protect him – creating an entire _army_ for him, and Dean's conscience would have to linger on that when there was more time for it.

He slept for a long time, but fitfully, over the next day. When he awoke, the swell of his stomach was impossible to ignore. The night before Castiel visited him it had just been like he'd had a large meal – a food baby. But now, it was a definitely _not food_ baby and if he pressed his palms against his stomach he could imagine he felt the little werewolf-human-Angel-whatever-the-fuck-this-thing-was moving around inside of him. It gave him a weird fluttery feeling, and a sensation like heartburn.

He rolled onto his side, closing his eyes again and willing himself to get more sleep – maybe if he slept enough, when he finally woke up he would find that this had all just been a huge nightmare. A very real, very disturbing dream.

Jacob greeted him in the glade, which was lit up in morning sunlight. The wolf was even bigger now, if that was possible, his shoulder easily coming up to Dean's elbow, and when Dean knelt down in front of his son, Jacob's head was higher than his own.

The pup's too-human blue eyes were sad, Dean thought, when the pup whined softly and curled a giant wing around Dean's shoulders, and Dean closed his eyes, hating how much the feel of those soft wings reminded him of someone else, made it impossible to ignore what he had been told; that Castiel was inside of his son's body, or consciousness, or whatever the hell this was supposed to be.

"I keep thinking you're going to come back," he whispered into the soft fur of the wolf's neck, as Jacob sat down so that Dean could comfortably rest, cocooned in his son's wings. "I mean, every time I see his face – your face, I guess – I just think that maybe, if I pretend hard enough, then you'll just be there again and all of this will be…" He trailed off, gesturing vaguely, because he didn't have an end for that sentence.

"Everything's falling apart," he continued, lightly running his hands through Jacob's fur, petting the wolf's head and down his neck and then coming back up to continue the pattern as the animal rumbled contentedly next to him. "I had this whole plan; I thought it would be easy." He smirked in self deprecation, shaking his head. "Should've known better. When has anything been easy?"

The wolf's wings rustled softly, tightening around Dean, and Jacob lowered his head, ears flat back in anxiety as he pressed his cold nose to Dean's thigh.

"I just…" Dean choked off, tears coming behind his eyes and he tried to blink them away, determined not to let them fall. "Gabriel said that if I believe hard enough, you would be here." He snorted, shaking his head and looking away as the first few determined tears began to fall down his face, try as he might to hold them back. "Some bad shit's comin', Cas. I can feel it. I kinda keep expecting you to swoop in and save the day last minute, but I guess…it's all on me, isn't it?"

Jacob made a low sound in his throat, an ear flickering towards Dean as the wolf laid down, one icy blue eye fixed on Dean for a moment before he looked away. Dean sighed, running his fingers through the animal's thick pelt, pressing his lips together so he didn't let out any sound of despair.

"Yeah," he murmured, shaking his head again and looking in the same direction as the wolf was. "Figures. I guess…" He coughed, forcing a smile to his face. "I know I don't really have a right to ask this, but I could really use your help, man. Come on." Nothing. Of course there was nothing. His fingers tightened in Jacob's fur. "Come on – if you're going to challenge all my preconceived notions on everything that's real, the least you could do is throw me a bone." The wolf shifted his weight slightly, resting on his side, and blinked once, lazily. "Aren't babies supposed to have souls? Even monster ones? I _know_ you're in there because…it makes sense. Why do I have to believe when I just _know_?"

This time he did let out a sound – a broken sob, almost too quiet to hear. "You're not God anymore, Cas," he whispered, stroking a hand over the wolf's head, down to where his wings were folded by his sides. "You're just you. That's all I want. That's it."

The wolf didn't answer him – naturally – but Jacob's wings spread out very slightly, letting Dean dig underneath them to the wolf's warm fur, his fingers knotting in the thick, dark grey clumps that felt so much like human hair. Dean leaned down, pressing his face against Jacob's pelt, his other hand curling around the wolf's neck and holding on as though he were afraid his son would disintegrate or melt away if he didn't hold on tightly enough – he was trying to cling to something _, anything_ , looking for _any_ kind of sign.

He did let the tears fall, then – they weren't very many, but they stung his eyes and felt very cold against his face. He was freezing, and shivering, curled up next to his son, but Jacob's touch seemed to be burning hot. It was like when he had been in the shower, or Castiel – the other Castiel – had been touching him. It felt like the caress of an Angel's Grace, but Dean didn't let himself hope, to believe. How could he?

"Cas, please," he whispered brokenly, his fingers clenching tight enough to elicit a low whine of pain from the wolf. "Please, answer me."

 _Dean_.

He didn't hear it at first, over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears and the soft huffs of his son's breath and his own dry sobs, but it got louder. The more he whispered 'Cas', cried out for the Angel, the louder the answer seemed to be, until Dean could no longer ignore it.

 _Dean_.

He didn't want to let himself hope, but his fingers were starting to burn. What was the point anymore? Castiel was gone – somewhere buried deep inside the millions of wolf souls that were his son, and what hope could a weakened Angel possibly have fighting to be dominant in a human body that wasn't even fully developed?

It wasn't like he had consent.

"Dean!"

  
  


Dean gasped awake, breathing hard and shivering. Nausea curled, hot and heavy, in his gut, and he felt like he was about to throw up, and he was freezing cold – sweat was drying on his skin, damp around the back of his neck. He hurriedly swung his legs over the edge of his bed, sheets tangled haphazardly around his feet and calves, and just…sat, staring out of the window, trying to get a control on his roiling gut.

His stomach had…well, there was no other way to put it – he looked like he'd swallowed a beach ball. He looked like he was well into his third trimester, and he swallowed when he remembered that Castiel had told him he would speed up the pregnancy when Dean was settled – he was due to give birth tomorrow.

 _Tomorrow_.

"Shit," he muttered, running a hand through his sweat damp hair and looking down at the vast expanse of his once-flat stomach. Carefully, almost unsure if he wanted to, he pressed a palm flat over the side. He felt the same – of course he felt the same, and if it pressed hard enough he could definitely feel the drum-tight stretch of his skin over the baby he was holding in there. It was all so damn surreal and Dean wanted nothing more than to bury his head in the sand, get it over with, and pretend nothing had ever happened, that nothing _was_ happening.

But, of course, Castiel wouldn't let him do that.

"Dean."

The reason it was so cold quickly became apparent, when he heard that familiar voice. Dean turned around, fixing hazy eyes on Castiel where he stood, at the foot of Dean's bed. The deity was watching him with stoic, expectant eyes, and Dean remembered with another wave of nausea what Castiel had done the last time they had been together – the burning-hot, Angel Grace feeling wasn't going away; it was rising up, defiant, angry. It put heat and strength behind his words when he said;

"Why are you here?"

Castiel, to his credit, looked confused – there was a furrow in his brow when he cocked his head to one side. "You called me. Multiple times. I had thought you may have gone into early labor, or were in trouble."

There was another sick clench low in Dean's gut when he realized what Castiel meant; he'd heard Dean crying out in his dreams. The Hunter let out a breath, closing his eyes and clenching his fingers tightly in his sheets, as he bowed his head and turned away from Castiel, just trying to let himself breathe for a moment. When he wasn't looking at the abomination that used to be his friend, his Angel, the burning didn't feel quite so strong.

"Back in the motel room," he murmured, not even sure why he was bringing it up, just feeling like he _had_ to _, "_ you killed the wolves." He lifted his head, looking back to Castiel. "Why? Why would you do that to me?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "They were defying me."

"They're _my_ children!" Dean bit out, shoving himself to his feet. The huge pregnancy swell made him feel off-balance, and he felt uncomfortable baring such a large vulnerability to Castiel's sharp eyes, but he had to other choice if he wanted to get his point across, and this was something he _had_ to say; something he felt right in the pit of his gut, burning in his heart. "You have no right to them."

"Bite your tongue," Castiel hissed, taking a step towards Dean who, on instinct, stepping back, feeling the cool, unyielding wall press up behind him, "I made you what you are."

"And look what I made," Dean snapped back before he could stop himself, anger flaring up inside of him when he looked to Castiel – he just kept waiting, _hoping_ , for that glimpse of humanity, of Grace that he used to see in his friend's eyes, but of course it would never come, because this thing wasn't Castiel anymore.

The deity snarled, baring serrated, white teeth in Dean's direction, and advanced on him. The sheer chill of Castiel's presence made Dean shiver, swallowing nervously as frightened nausea curled up in his gut – he felt himself break out into a sweat again, his body too hot and the air too cold, making him tremble.

"I made them," Castiel whispered, his voice low and dangerous. "I brought them into this world – through me, they exist. I am their father." Then, he cocked his head to one side, expression changing to a thoughtful one. "Some sons are loyal to their fathers."

Dean swallowed, his fingers flexing a little by his sides, but he didn't rise to the jab. That wasn't what this conversation was about. "They are loyal to me," he whispered, the anger flattened out like the eye of the storm. "They love _me_ , not you."

The burning sensation was getting worse – it had started in Dean's belly, but now it was rising up, encasing his heart, spreading out through his arms and his fingers. His shoulder felt like someone had placed a brand on it; he felt like if he looked at his skin, it would be glowing white-hot, but he refused to look away from the flat, abyssal eyes of the creature that called himself God.

"You are nothing to them."

 _Dean_.

"No," Dean growled, backing away further when Castiel reached for him, cold fingers catching and curling into his bicep, where the heat was most felt. He felt sick again, like he was going to throw up molten metal or something. The feeling of steel and something stronger than steel tickled the inside of his arm. "Get the hell away from me!"

"Alpha?" At once Dean and Castiel broke apart, to find Aaron and Leah standing in the doorway. At once the tension in the room became almost unbearable, the wolves and Castiel staring each other down, giant predators just waiting for the other to make the first move.

"Aaron," Dean gasped out, tearing his arm away from Castiel and clutching at his stomach – God, he felt like he was going to be sick. His heart was racing and sweat was breaking out anew on his skin. "Leah. Help me."

Immediately the wolves rushed to his side, Leah curling her slim, warm fingers around Dean's shoulders and helping him down onto the bed, Aaron flanking his other side defensively so he was sitting between Dean and Castiel. By the time Dean looked back up, when he was sure the nausea had passed enough and the burning, _on-fire_ sensation had left him, Castiel had winged away, leaving nothing but a chill in the air and the feeling of dread weighing heavily on Dean's mind.

  
  


Crowley looked one more time upon the sigils he had traced in virgin blood and the blood of a Purgatory native – everything was set. Tomorrow would be the lunar eclipse, and the day when Crowley would put his plan to capture Dean Winchester into motion.

He needed Dean – needed his blood and his influence. He didn't expect the operation to go smoothly at all, but what were a few thousand demons and werewolf lives when compared to absolute power and the complete vanquishing of a long-time enemy and royal pain in Crowley's backside?

There was a sound of metal striking metal, and Crowley paused, pursing his lips and looking around to find Castiel standing there, blocking his view of the wall, staring at it. The creature turned around, eyes wild, teeth bared in a small snarl, his fingers flexing at his sides.

He looked a little bit feral.

"Drop in for a quick chat?" Crowley quipped, rocking on his heels as he went back to his armchair, taking a bottle of brandy, opening it and pouring some into a snifter. He turned around with a smile, swirling the brandy and bringing it to his nose to smell. "You look a little tense, darling. Baby momma drama?"

"I know what you're doing," Castiel growled, eyes flashing as he looked to Crowley, straightening up with narrowed eyes. The demon raised a brow. "You moved the moon – what will opening Purgatory accomplish? There's nothing left in there. I have it all."

Crowley chuckled, sipping at the brandy, and then set the glass down. "Yes, that's true," he murmured, sauntering up to the blood-stained wall and placing his hand on it. "And that would be a problem, if my intentions were to merely open the door."

Castiel's eyes narrowed again, his lips pressed together in impatience. "What do you mean?"

Crowley laughed. "I mean to steal them from you, of course," he said, rocking on his heels and folding his hands together in front of him. "As soon as I have the blood and body of the person who controls the souls, I will have them also. It's remarkably simple."

Castiel snarled – a bitter, triumphant sound. "You'll never have my blood or my loyalty," he said, eyes black, baring more than one set of sharp, pointed teeth. "You may as well turn back now."

"What makes you think _you_ control them?" Crowley replied, wearing a smirk of his own. "I don't believe the common phrase is 'daddy's boy'." Castiel snarled again, taking a step forward. "And, if you plan on using that pig sticker on me, I'll save you some time."

The demon waved a hand, sending Castiel flying back into the opposite wall with enough force to make it crack. The deity snarled, struggling against the demon's power, eyes widening when he found that he couldn't. Crowley smirked, walking forward, and plucked Castiel's blade from his hand, instead resting the point at the dip of Castiel's throat.

"A lot of people have died in the past week," the demon murmured, "that were never going to go to Heaven." Then, he cocked his head to one side, pressing a little harder until Castiel growled in pain, and the first black-red drop of blood was spilled from the point of the blade, rolling slowly down his throat to be soaked up by his clothes. "You should have just given me half before, Castiel," he continued, eyes flashing up to the deity. "I'm a man of survival."

Then, he stepped away, and let Castiel drop. The creature snarled, his eyes flashing to the blade Castiel still held, and he winged away, knowing the demon wouldn't let him have it back. Crowley smirked and set it down next to his glass of brandy.

Now, on with business.

  
  


The howls went up an hour after Castiel's departure – long enough for Dean to shower (thoroughly) and wiggle himself into the largest shirt he owned, and a pair of sweatpants. Even with the loose-fitting clothes his belly stretched the fabric taught, and a little bit peaked out between the shirt and waistline unless he pulled the pants up higher.

He froze, fixing wide eyes towards the back of the house, where the howls were coming from, and then ran that way. He felt slow and thundering with the huge weight of pregnancy, sore from the sudden change his body was having to accommodate, but anxiety gave him the adrenaline he needed to reach the back door.

Aaron and three other wolves were running towards him. Leah was not with them. "What's going on?" Dean demanded when Aaron shifted form at the door, pushing Dean as gently as he could back inside, while still being firm enough that there was no room for argument.

"Someone's coming," Aaron said in reply, his lips pressed together in worry, and Dean stepped back, wondering what that could have meant. "Someone's here."

"Call off the cavalry, Dean-o, we come in peace."

The four of them whirled around to find Gabriel, Sam and Bobby standing in the middle of the house's entrance room. Immediately the three wolves who were still wolves growled, hackles raised, forming a defensive circle around Dean and pushing him back towards the door. Gabriel held up his hands in a 'we come in peace' gesture, and snapped his fingers. Immediately all the wolves but Aaron disappeared.

Aaron growled, stepping forward, ready to defend his Alpha despite the fact that he could feel the power radiating off of Gabriel – he was not afraid of an Angel. In fact, the creature kind of smelled like Dean – there was the same taint of ozone in the air that was an Angel's Grace.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, after a tense moment of nothingness. Sam's wide eyes were fixed on his brother's very obvious baby…well, hill. Bump didn't really apply any more. Bobby, too, seemed like he didn't want to blatantly stare, but there wasn't much option to look away either. "What are you doing here?"

"Savin' your sorry ass," Gabriel answered for him, folding his arms across his chest. "Call off the dogs, will you? Maybe we can act like civilized people and get a game plan. Time's a-wastin', boys."

"Dean." Sam could only stare at his brother, from his face down to his swollen stomach and back again. His hand had reached out, like he had wanted to touch but pulled himself back, and he took a step forward, eyes wide and disbelieving, and Dean immediately flattened his palms over his stomach, stepping away. Aaron moved between them, still growling, and Sam immediately halted. "Dean, I -."

"What are you doing here? How did you find me?" Dean demanded, torn between such intense relief over seeing his brother and mentor safe, and fear, because the last time they'd spoken, he knew Sam had wanted to get rid of the baby and he had no idea if that was still the case, only now they'd enlisted the help of a badass Archangel.

Sam swallowed, looking up and meeting Dean's eyes, and reached into his pocket. Dean followed the movement when Sam pulled something out, and held his hand open for Dean to see. The amulet glinted dully in the light of the room and without thinking Dean stepped forward, reaching out to take it.

"Alpha," Aaron murmured in a low, warning voice, but Dean ignored him and took the amulet from Sam's hand, his fingers curling around the dull metal. He remembered throwing that away, Castiel calling it junk. Sam must have picked it up, and kept it all this time.

God.

"What are you doing here?" he asked again, looking up into his little brother's eyes.

"When the moon started movin', and you wouldn't pick up your phone, we knew somethin' was up," Sam murmured, low and soft like Dean was a skittish horse and he was afraid of speaking too loudly and startling him.

Dean frowned, still fidgeting with the amulet in his hands. "I kept trying to call – couldn't reach you. Wasn't hearin' anything either." He pressed his lips together, anger flaring up in him again when he realized that Castiel must have interfered there, too, and prevented the brothers from reaching each other. His eyes flashed to Sam's. "What's going on out there?"

"Something big," Sam replied, and Bobby and Gabriel both nodded somberly.

"We think Crowley's gonna try and reopen Purgatory, try and get the souls back somehow."

"Get them back?" Dean repeated, eyes widening as he immediately flattened a hand over his stomach. "All of them? How is that -?"

"Tomorrow," Aaron said, drawing attention back to himself, and all four of them turned to look at the wolf. His distrusting hazel eyes were still fixed on Sam, but when Dean reached forward and gently squeezed his shoulder, the wolf's eyes moved to his Alpha's, and he swallowed. "We can feel it – the moon's moving too fast. Tomorrow it'll be blocked completely and…" He paused, smirking slightly. "That demon…"

"You know Crowley?" Dean asked, frowning.

"He summoned us," Aaron confessed, ducking his head in supplication to Dean. "He was the one who told us where you were, so that we could find and protect you."

"And lead me away from the people trying to protect me," Dean spat, taking a step back from Aaron, towards the door. "God damn it…" He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. But he couldn't dwell on that right now – that had been and gone. Right now someone had just told him that his _children_ were in danger and like _hell_ was he going to let Crowley kill _more_ of his family, or take away _everything_ he'd tried to get here. "If he takes the souls away, he'll kill Cas."

"Or whatever's left of him," Bobby said grimly.

"No." Dean shook his head, putting a hand against his stomach again. "I mean…I don't know if he can, or if he's…" He stopped himself, pressing his lips together. "We can't let Crowley get all the souls, regardless of what that means for everyone else."

"How can we stop him, though?" Sam asked, looking towards Gabriel in the hope that the Angel might have something.

"I don't know how exactly he intends to do this," Gabriel said, frowning, "but I've known Crowley for a long time. He'll probably try some sort of transfer. For that, he'll need Dean."

"Me?" Dean asked. "Why me?"

Gabriel blinked at him. "You're the All-Mother, Dean-o," he murmured, almost like he was apologizing for stating the facts. "You control them. He has you, he has everything. Everything destined for Purgatory would bow down to you and if you tell them to obey him, then they will. No questions asked. Complete and total servitude."

Dean frowned. "How do you know this?"

Gabriel shrugged. "That's how he created Angels."

There was silence for a moment, Dean finally looking down at the amulet, before he sighed and shoved it into his pocket, and Sam's eyes tracked the movement. "We can't let him," Dean murmured, his eyes darting around on the floor as he tried to think. "And…Castiel's here. Our Cas, I mean – the real one. He's in the kid, or whatever, I know it, we just need a little more time."

"We don't have time," Gabriel snapped, his shoulders tense. He was looking at Dean weirdly, like Dean was this strange abstract piece of art he'd never seen before and he was trying to figure out what the artist had been thinking when he'd painted it. "Tomorrow everything's coming to a head. The lunar eclipse will happen and you're just about ready to pop…"

"How is Castiel?" Sam asked, looking over at Dean.

The older Winchester sighed, looking down, and shook his head. "I don't…"

"We have to kill him, Dean," Sam whispered, taking a step forward. "He's not Cas, not really – one way or another, he's going to die."

Dean sighed, closing his eyes. "I know."

"Dean -."

"I know, damn it," Dean snapped, opening his eyes again and glaring at Sam for a moment. Then he turned around, heading towards the door. "Just give me a Goddamn minute." He exited the house. The cool, dry wood of the porch felt nice against his bare feet as he moved to one corner of the house, away from the windows. There were a few wolves outside and they let out small sounds of greeting when they saw him, but he waved them away, not wanting the company.

It wasn't long before Bobby joined him – he should have known his mentor and long-time friend wouldn't just let him wallow in his own misery. His hands curled around his stomach, seeking the reassuring movements of his son inside of his gut while his mentor seated and got himself comfortable on the porch.

"Gabriel kept saying if I believed hard enough, Cas would come back," he said, breaking the silence before Bobby could, and snorted, shaking his head. "Sounds a bit too Hallmark for me."

"Well, you know, a lot of Gods and their servants are based on belief," Bobby replied with a shrug. "Maybe he's onto something. The power of love and all that."

"Bobby." The one word managed to show Dean's derision towards _that_.

"I'm just sayin', boy." Bobby sighed, taking off his ball cap and shaking it out in front of him, before fidgeting with the bill and then placing it back on his head. "Way I see it -."

"Bobby, please, don't."

Bobby held up his hand. "Way I see it," he repeated, pointedly looking at Dean until the older Winchester subsided and let him speak, "there are lots of ways to go about this. I know you don't want to lose Cas, but if you can't make him come back by the time all Hell comes busting down our front door, we've got ourselves a bit of a situation."

"What do you want me to do?" Dean demanded, desperation showing in his voice.

"You wanted time," Bobby said, completely unruffled despite Dean's outburst. "Sam, Gabriel, the wolves and I are gonna buy you all the time you need when all Hell breaks loose. But you gotta have an endgame or…accept that if you can't, we gotta do something else." Dean sighed, shaking his head. "I know you don't wanna hear it – Cas was all our friends too, Dean. But sometimes when you're fighting this hard you're just givin' CPR to something that's already dead."

Dean pressed his lips together, shaking his head again. His hands moved, following the subtle motions he could feel, like butterflies in his stomach, across his stretched skin through his t-shirt. "No," he whispered, more strongly than he felt. The burning sensation was back in his gut, burning hot and bright and he couldn't _not_ believe, couldn't give up on Castiel now because Castiel had never given up on him, not when he would have said 'Yes' to Michael, not when he had 'gotten out', not ever. Castiel always came back for him.

"No," he whispered again, looking up and out across the small backyard, to where the mountains began, rising up high and towering over them. "I won't give up on him. Not yet."


	21. I Love The Way You Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Castiel. Please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Sorry it's been taking so long to pump this one out. Epic stuff's happening now though so. And, sorry, I totally haven't proof-read this. I was too eager to get it out.

_"Castiel. Please."_

The deity flew to Heaven swiftly, his iron wings aching on his back as he cut through the vast void between Heaven and Earth and stepped into his kingdom. His wings flared up high, the sun glinting off of the shards of metal. He called out, loudly – a summoning for all of his Angels, his forces, to gather to him.

 _"Cas_. _Don't leave me alone down here."_

Where was everyone? Growling, Castiel flared his wings out again, leaving Heaven's gardens and instead walking up to the grand building of Heaven's Hall. No one there either. A flare of wariness and trepidation made its way through the God's dark mind, his cold, icy eyes, flat and dark, roving over the empty courtyard. The sun beat down, hot and relentless with no cloud in the sky to cover and shield those down below.

_"Castiel."_

"Show yourselves!" Castiel yelled again, the sun glinting off his heavy, rusting wings. They were so heavy, weighing on his back in the way they hadn't before. He spun around with a low snarl, storming up the steps and towards the large golden doors of Heaven's City Hall. The doors gave with a single push of his hand and he stepped into the tomb-like silence within.

It was full of Angels. His Angels. What were they doing here?

"I summoned you," he snapped, upper lip curling back as his eyes flashed demon-dark. He stalked forward within the ring of them. There were many in there, huddled together like homeless orphans awaiting the passing of a storm. His hand twitched by his side, aching for his blade, but it would not come to him, because Crowley had taken it from him. "Why are you not answering me?"

After a long silence, broken by nothing but the occasional rustle of a guilty feather, Castiel roared; "Speak, you cowards! Answer your God!"

"It has been a long time since you were anything like us, God or Angel."

The deity's shoulders tensed – he knew that voice – and he turned around, seeing that Gabriel was standing in front of him, confined as he was in the ring of Angels as he spearheaded the rebellion. His eyes flashed with malice and his wings arched high in threat. "Traitor," he growled, taking a step forward and, though the Archangel's eyes flashed golden in warning, Gabriel did not move. "You cannot betray me like this. I _made_ you."

"A son is loyal to his father," Gabriel whispered, conceding the point with a nod and watching as Castiel's rust-bronze wings settled. "But you did not make me, Castiel. You are no longer my brother." He took a deep breath, his fingers flexing by his side in a move every Angel knew well. "We once fought for the same thing, but the Angel you were is no longer in this body you wear. I need the Angels' help."

"You don't have the authority," Castiel growled, taking another step forward. Gabriel's eyes flashed again, remembering all too well the last time he had faced off a brother like this – God, why did it still hurt so much? Even knowing that this _thing_ was no longer close to being the true Castiel, Gabriel felt pain, knew his brother's face, knew the arch of his wings and even though they were borrowed and molting and rusted over, he saw Castiel in them.

Gabriel pressed his lips together. "I need their help," he repeated, nodding his head once. "I'm not ordering them, or commanding them – I am not usurping your leadership. I just need them. Just this once. I…" He shook his head. "Dean is in trouble."

 _"Castiel_."

"I can hear him calling me," the deity murmured, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "He's calling so loud. Why? Is the child alright?"

"He isn't calling for you," Gabriel replied, too kindly, with a shake of his head.

Castiel snarled again, his rage returning – the souls swelled, eager and angry at the feel of the moon's pull, soon to become eclipsed, and felt their master's fear as their own. He needed Dean, needed to keep his All-Mother safe. Needed his children to stop rebelling.

"And so history repeats itself," he said, bitterness edging his voice. He threw his hands out to either side in challenge. "My first fails me and my second betrays me." He took a step forward. "Well not this time. I am better than God, better than all of you. You will not have the Angels. I won't give them to you."

 _"Cas,_ please _."_

"The wolves can fight for him. The wolves can win. I will destroy Crowley's demon hoard and they will not touch him."

Gabriel stared at Castiel, so much pity in his eyes that it angered the God – how he wished for his blade so that he could drive his authority home behind it. Clearly it was the only thing creatures like Angels understood – violence and threats.

"When you had your vision," Gabriel whispered, taking a step forward. They were practically nose to nose now, Castiel's heavy wings sagging low to the ground and coming forward in an instinctual search for the connection Angels shared, "who were the wolves fighting?"

Castiel blinked at him, silent for a long moment, and then snarled once more, pulling away. "Any Angel that joins this traitor will be struck down by my own hand," he said, his voice loud and carrying over the gathered throng. "I do not need my blade to destroy you all. Even as I am I am far more powerful than my Angel of Death."

There were murmurs among the gathered Angels, wings shifting nervously, and there was the occasional glint of a blade in the non-light of the City Hall. When Castiel turned back around, Gabriel was gone and, with a snarl, he winged away.

   
  


Dean could feel it. The tension in the air was so thick he felt like he was drinking it. His body ached in so many ways and he knew it would soon be time for him to give birth – and God, wasn't that still such a weird thought. He grimaced, one hand flattening over the huge plane of his belly, and closed his eyes.

"You said you would always come when I call," he murmured, voice hoarse. He'd been at this for hours. "Well, I'm callin', Cas. I don’t know if I should pray anymore, but I'm doing that too. Just in case."

"Dean?" The older Winchester opened his eyes, swallowing when he saw Sam standing at the doorway. "Any luck?"

He shook his head, and then scooted slightly to one side on his bed to make room for Sam. He didn't get far but his brother took the offer for what it was and entered the room, perching awkwardly on the side of the bed. He swallowed, trying to look anywhere but Dean's belly and failing – it was like a great big elephant in the room, after all.

"I keep thinking maybe it's all in my head," Dean murmured, closing his eyes again and propping himself up better against the headboard. "Maybe I'll wake up and we'll still be at Bobby's, and I'll have just hit my head really bad on a hunt, or somethin'."

"Does it make me a bad person to kind of want that too?" Sam asked, looking down at his hands, his hair falling forward to hide his face. "Listen, Dean -."

"Sam." Dean's voice was a warning – he knew that tone. That was the 'we need to talk' tone and Dean wanted nothing more than to never talk about this ever again.

"Dean," Sam answered, his voice getting petulant, and Dean rolled his eyes, turning his head to stare out of the window. "I just wanted to say that I'm so, so sorry." Dean blinked – he hadn't been expecting that. But he kept his gaze out the window.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Sammy," he replied after a moment, shrugging one shoulder. "It's my fault, after all. Should'nt've abandoned him, made him feel like he wasn't one of us anymore. That's what did it." He smirked bitterly, snorting a little. "Even when he ate all the souls and went crazy, he still craved what we had had – our 'love', I guess, or whatever."

Sam swallowed. "Yeah, well, it's my job to make you see when you're being out of line and everything," he said, clearing his throat. "I mean, I get why you reacted that way – really, I do, believe me, if anyone knows it's me, but I still should have…" He paused for a moment. "Maybe he wouldn't have gone so far off the deep end."

"And now we're in the middle of another Goddamn Apocalypse." Dean sighed, rubbing his belly absently again. "You'd think God would at least pay attention after the third one, you know?" He winced, feeling a small pain shoot through his stomach and legs – he'd been having them on and off for a while now and they usually went away after he got up, but he'd just been so tired, trying to coax Castiel out, to get that warm Angel-Grace feeling inside of him again that he was convinced was Castiel. He'd even tried to go to sleep to talk to Jacob again but hadn't been able to relax enough for that.

Sam pressed his lips together, mouth twisting when he noticed Dean wincing and deliberately didn't stare at his brother's rounded stomach. "Yeah, well, maybe he just doesn't care anymore. Maybe we're like a fifth grade science project that he left in a closet and forgot about."

Dean smirked. "The Second Coming'll be his college years. I'm expecting a party."

Sam laughed a little, though it felt flat – still, it was kind of normal now, for the Winchesters, to find the bitter humor in what they could and avoid talking about what they needed to at all cost. Dean let his eyelids droop, just listening to the sound of his and Sam's breathing, before another tight pain shot through him and he tensed, hissing a little.

"Dean?" Sam asked, brow furrowed in concern, and he sat up, reaching for Dean automatically. "You alright?"

"Yeah, m'fine, just -." He was cut off when the pain abated, leaving behind the burning sensation he had come to associate with Castiel. He breathed deep, letting out his breath in a long gust, before he looked into Sam's worried eyes. "Just a bit of pain, s'normal." No sooner had he said that than another contraction rolled through him, making him tense again.

"How long have…?" Sam trailed off, his voice low with the awful realization of what was happening. "Shit."

"What -?"

"Alpha?" Aaron and Leah appeared in the doorway, the wolves hurrying in and kneeling on Dean's bed. "We can feel him, Alpha," they whispered in unison, one of Leah's hands reaching forward to land on Dean's belly. Dean felt the baby leap and roll inside of him. "He's coming."

Dean knew it would be today. Had expected it. But there was a difference between knowing it and feeling it, and terror hit him hard. "Oh, God," he groaned, his other hand smoothing over his stomach, his eyes wide as he grit his teeth through another contraction. "Shit! Ow!"

"It's okay, Dean," Sam murmured, standing up and helping Dean to his feet, with Leah and Aaron flanking him. "We'll take you downstairs and it's all set up. You'll be fine, just -."

The howling started, then, sudden and swift, rising up all around the house. A shudder went through Dean and, despite his pain, he managed to roll his eyes and shake his head. "Of course."

"It's okay, Dean," Sam said again, supporting his brother as they headed towards the stairs. Dean closed his eyes, his latest contraction leaving him sore and exhausted – they were really picking up frequency and intensity now, and already he felt boneless.

"Everything is going to be okay."

   
  


Crowley's eyes snapped up, flashing to black, as he cocked his head to one side. He smiled.

Castiel's blade glinted in his hand, burning his palm slightly. "Good," he murmured, his smirk widening as he stepped outside of his abode. "Grab him. Our window isn't large, darling, so make me proud."

After a moment, he cocked his head the other way. "You let me worry about our friendly neighborhood God." Another pause. "Because I said so, that's why. If it weren't for me you would already be ripped into shreds, or have you forgotten?"

There was another pause, longer this time, and the wind picked up, a sullen sigh carrying itself to Crowley. The demon smiled.

"Good girl."

   
  


Castiel's eyes snapped down to Earth and he snarled. "Finally," he murmured, winging his way down to Earth again and standing outside of the werewolves' house. There were many wolves surrounding it, pacing nervously and Castiel could hear Dean's pained cries from inside.

Dean was calling his name. He had to go to Dean.

He took a step forward, and stopped. He couldn't move.

Castiel looked down and found himself standing in a large circle, sigils surrounding it glowing with hellfire. The sigil was not make of chalk, or paint, but the souls of demons, painted in red blood and creating a seal around him. He snarled in anger, not knowing what kind of magic could trap him like this, but only knowing that he definitely was trapped. His wings were being eaten away by the sigil.

There was a resounding 'sching' in the air, and the God lifted his angry, flat eyes to find two demons walking towards him. His blade glinted in the light of the disappearing moon and Castiel snarled more loudly, his lip curling back over serrated, backward-facing teeth.

"Crowley," he growled, his voice carrying octaves, his fading wings arching high in fear and anger. His eyes flashed to the other demon. "Meg."

The female smirked, cocking her head to one side, long raven hair falling over her shoulders. "Hey, big boy," she drawled, taking a step forward. "You don't look so good. Dean give you an STI?"

Castiel snarled again. "You will let me go to him," he said, addressing Crowley now.

The demon chuckled, twirling the Angel blade in his hand. He really was quite fond of it, the way it faintly hummed with power – obviously the Angel to whom it belonged was still very much alive and kicking. A fact that Crowley found most interesting. "Don't you worry," he said, eyes flashing back to up Castiel. "You'll see him soon enough." He waved his hand. "Darling, why don't you go retrieve our little mother-to-be now, before he pops. It's time."

Meg nodded and disappeared with a smirk, and Castiel snarled loudly in warning and frustration, flaring his fading wings out – what was happening? Why were his wings fading like this? He hadn't had time to restore his Grace from another Angel, and now it was leaving him. Damn it.

"You will regret this day," he promised, even as the sigil of demon souls contracted around him, binding his wings and arms to his body and preparing to carry him away.

Crowley laughed. "I very much doubt that."

   
  


_"Ianua Magna Purgatorii, Clausa Est Ob Nos, Lumine Eius Ab Oculis Nostris Retento…"_

Dean groaned, pain shooting through his body as he was roused to wakefulness, a low, sharp ache in his gut forcing him to roll to his side and clutch at his stomach with a hiss. God, his whole body hurt and – he felt at his belly – he was still very much pregnant. The floor was cold; felt like cement, or cheap linoleum, but it wasn't warming up to his body heat. Cold penetrated his sweat-soaked shirt and wrapped tight to his bare legs, and he shivered.

_"…Sed Nunc Stamus Ad Limen Huius Ianuae Magnae Et Demisse, Fideliter, Perhonorifice, Paramus Aperire Eam…"_

That voice. He recognized that voice. He coughed, clutching at his throat as he did so – his hands were slick. Why were his…?

A sharp contraction hit him hard and he cried out. The chanting momentarily stopped and Dean wrenched his eyes open, breathing hard, sweat starting anew on his skin as he tried to get a grip of his surroundings. He tried to push himself upwards onto his hands and knees, only to be grabbed by his hair and hauled back so he landed on his knees, his aching, slick thighs jarred with the motion.

"Carefully, now, darling," came the voice again – the British accent, the stupid… _Crowley_. Dean opened his eyes again, breathing hard, and locked gazes with the black-eyed demon, who was smirking back at him. He strained against the hand fisted tight in his hair, rolled his eyes back to see Meg staring down at him with an equally triumphant smile. He gritted his teeth, stifling his cry when the contraction abated, leaving him panting hard and shaking, exhausted and in agony.

"Crowley," he bit out, glaring at the demon. It was then that movement caught his eye, and he turned his head slightly, jerking when Meg pulled him back, to see Castiel standing in a tight circle of demons. The God looked angry, fierce, his lip curled back in a snarl, fingers flexing helplessly and uselessly by his sides. Fury burned deep in his eyes. "What are you…?"

"The souls are going to be mine," the demon said, turning to look at the sigil he had carved on the wall again for a long moment, before taking a step back. "As they should have been. And you," he looked to Dean, "are going to help me do that?"

"Oh yeah?" Dean laughed. "Why would I?"

Crowley smiled a smile with too much teeth. "Because my army is fighting yours right now, Dean. Your darling little brother and poor excuse for a father figure are trapped, slowly being slaughtered, by thousands of Hell's best. Having an Archangel won't help them, Dean – I have a hundred thousand to your one. And when I'm done with them, I will kill each and every werewolf that helped and housed you. Then, I will kill that…thing, over there." He waved vaguely in Castiel's direction, the Angel blade flashing in his hand, and Dean's eyes widened, recognizing it.

"And then," the King of Hell continued, pleasure flashing in his eyes, "I'm going to gut you. Assuming you hurry up and the half-breed is still inside you. If not, I can just kill it while you watch."

For a moment, Dean could only stare at Crowley, his eyes widening in horror at each death – each pint of blood that would be on his hands. His body felt like it was burning up and he was helpless – he knew he couldn't do a damned thing. Couldn't let that many people die. And he knew, without a doubt, that Crowley would not hesitate to carry through on his threat.

"All you have to do is say 'Yes', Dean."

_Yes._

_Yes._

_Say 'Yes'._

Dean swallowed, unable to speak again, but Crowley nodded to himself, recognizing the Winchester's surrender, and turned his attention back to the wall. It was beginning to burn around the edges. The demon spread his arms out wide and continued the chant.

Dean's mind was racing. His heart felt like it was beating so fast and his entire body _ached_ in a way it hadn't for a very long time. His belly burned – God, why did it hurt so much. He wrapped his arms around himself and cried out, bending forward double as another contraction threatened to rip him in two – it was the strongest one yet.

_Say 'Yes'._

The urge was undeniable – was it the souls, begging to be given to a stronger body, a more powerful creature with more ambition than simply to let them be born? Dean swallowed, closing his eyes, unable to believe that it had come down to this – again. God, he had thought…he had thought he was better, this time. Had a better handle on it.

How wrong he was.

Were Sam, Gabriel and Bobby still alive? How had Meg gotten to them? He'd assumed it was Meg – remembered flashes of her sulfurous touch between bouts of pain and Sam's warm hands on his head, petting through his sweat-soaked hair, telling him he would be okay.

He could hear wolves howling.

Crowley had reached the last phrase; _"Ianua Magna, Aperta Tandem!"_

Dean screamed, feeling like his very soul was being ripped out when the door opened, the wall crumbling in front of Crowley as the demon opened the door to Purgatory again. Purgatory's fiery maw opened wide in front of them, different than that of Hell – drier with less impurity of death and fear. Beside him, above his head, he could hear Meg crying out as well, the demon letting go of him and cowering away.

"Dean!" That was Crowley, the demon was walking towards him. "Come on, Winchester, make me proud!"

Dean screamed again, unable to speak as another blast furnace of heat swept over him, inside and out. _Say 'Yes', Dean._ Something was telling him to – he needed to obey, felt like he would die if he couldn't. God, if only the _heat_ would _stop._

"Dean!"

_Dean!_

At once, the heat went away. The sound of his screaming went away – everything just…disappeared. Briefly. Dean closed his eyes, hands reaching blindly along the ground, white going off behind his eyes, and he felt feathers against his palm.

_Say 'Yes', Dean._

"Cas…"

_I'm here, Dean, I'm here. I've come for you._

"Yes."  



	22. You're the Same As Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gate was open. Hell had risen. "Time to fight," he said, standing, his Grace flaring as he summoned his blade to hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Gabriel perched on top of the werewolves' house, his face stoic, resigned, as he gazed upon the full expanse of creation, towards the Devil's Gate that was slowly, slowly, being pushed open. Soon, he would have no time to watch, to see what else was happening. All he had was a prayer, and a belief that his little brother would come through for them.

That was all he could rely on.

There was a small shift in the air beside him, and he looked over to Death, who was sitting, following his gaze, and sipping from a sixteen-ounce Slushie. Of course. "Here for the living or the dead?" he asked, shifting his weight, the heavy feeling of his wings behind him more welcome than he would care to admit. He was back. Well and truly back.

Death smiled. "I'm here for the show, of course."

Gabriel chuckled. "Of course." A pause. "Hey…" Death looked over at them. "If you take them today…go easy on them, will ya? Call it a favor to me."

The certainty blinked at him, cocking his head to one side as he sipped some more at the blue-colored drink. He hummed softly in thought, but gave no answer, and Gabriel knew he would have to be content with just that. The Gate was open. Hell had risen.

"Time to fight," he said, standing, his Grace flaring as he summoned his blade to hand. By the Father, it felt good to hold it again.

"Everything is going to be okay, Dean – Gabriel! We need your help!" The Archangel froze, hearing his name being called, and looked to Death for a moment. Death, naturally, gave no indication that he had heard anything. Quickly Gabriel winged away and to Sam and Dean's side.

"What's going on?"

"The baby -." Sam's answer was cut off when Dean gave a loud, pained cry, curling in on himself as he tried to stumble to the downstairs bathroom, where things had been set up for him to give birth. As Gabriel watched, the wolves ran into the bathroom and soon the sounds of running water was heard as they began to the fill the bath with water. There were blankets and towels in the bathroom already – all the preparation had been taken care of.

"Fuck," Dean snapped, his eyes bright with tears of pain as he grit his teeth, breathing through another contraction. His hands were flat against his distended belly, only moving when Sam pulled at his shirt, so the giant swell of his belly was exposed. The sight of the Winchester's stomach, skin stretched thin over rounded flesh, red stretch marks standing out starkly where his skin had no time to get used to being spread so thin, was enough to make Gabriel worry, realize that this…this was happening.

Shit. Now of all times?

He could feel the demon horde coming closer – his Grace bristled and stung with the need to destroy. "Sam," he said, kneeling on Dean's other side, meeting the younger brother's panicked gaze. "I need to go with Bobby and the wolves – the demons are coming and they're coming fast. Take care of Dean."

"But I…" Sam paused, swallowing when he heard Dean give another low grunt of pain, trying to silence his sounds as another contraction ripped through his body. He swallowed, pressing his lips together, and nodded. Gabriel smiled, squeezing Sam's shoulder, and stood, blade flashing as he prepared to fight, to defend Dean for as long as necessary until the baby was born.

"Wards in place?" Dean gasped out, breathing hard in the wake of another contraction, his body finely trembling under Sam's hands, and the younger Winchester laughed – a choked-off, desperate sound.

"Yeah, Dean, 'course. Did them myself," he replied, shifting his position so Dean could lay down on the pile of blankets that had been brought down. Sam doubted that they were manage to get him to the bath on time – the baby was coming and it was coming fast. "Just…just relax, Dean. We're gonna time your next contractions and when you're ready we'll start to push."

"Gonna have to interrupt you here, moose."

Sam froze, turning around, eyes wide as they fixed on – "Meg," he snarled, hatred flashing in his eyes when he looked at the smirking woman's face. "Thought you'd be kibble by now."

"S'funny you should mention kibble…" A low growl sounded from Meg's left, by her hip. Phantom claws left their mark on the wooden floor and Sam's eyes widened in fear. "Because that can easily be arranged for you. Now be a good boy and hand Dean over."

Sam paused, eyes narrowing as he looked her over. "No," he challenged. She frowned at him, her mouth twisting, and he smirked in triumph. "You can't get past the wards. No demon can. Nice try."

"Cocky isn't a good look on you, Sam," Meg replied, her tone biting. "Besides, what makes you think I'm not just a distraction?"

Sam's retort was cut off when Dean gave another low snarl of pain. His eyes were closed, head rolling from side to side, sweat coating his skin and he was trembling – if not for his obvious condition, Sam would have said he was in shock or had a high fever. He was burning up and Sam had no idea how to stop it. He yanked at Dean's jeans, hoping that exposing more of his skin would cool him off, and splashed some of the bath water onto a towel, pressing it to Dean's forehead.

"He doesn't look so good, does he?" Meg said with a small pout.

"Shut up."

Suddenly, the house began to shake. Sam froze, bracing himself over Dean's body in case anything fell, looking around as the small bathroom window became blocked out by millions of demon souls. They rocked the house with force and Sam grimaced, ducking his head when plaster began to crack and fall.

"That's one seal," Meg whispered, taking a caution step forward. The Hound growled by her side. "Little more…yes!" The beam above the door cracked and split, and Sam yelled out for Gabriel or Bobby when he was thrown back against the wall. Meg laughed in triumph, stepping forward, and grabbed Dean's arm. They both disappeared and Sam was left alone in the shaking house, the snarling Hellhound still guarding the door.

He felt around the edge of the room where he had been thrown, finding no weapons of salt or iron he could use. He was trapped and he could see the Hellhound advancing, claws scraping into the floor and ruffling the blankets. The line of the Hound slowly came into view – Sam could just make out its blurry outline as it focused its sights on him, ready to kill.

It was grotesque – two heads, snarling, dripping acidic saliva behind rotting and metallic-looking teeth, alternating between jagged bone and mean-looking blade-like canines. Its eyes were the color of sulfur and ash, mixed together into a too-familiar shade. Flesh hung off its body loosely, skin flapping and tears in its flesh filled with maggots and other insects. It had leeches in its mouth and they wriggled and writhed on its tongue.

Sam drew in a breath, prepared to be torn apart by this thing, when suddenly it howled, sounding in unbearable pain – loud and piercing enough that Sam had to cover his ears. It began to turn in on itself, like it was breaking down at a base level, collapsing like a burned-out star, and collapsed, dead, in a pile of gently steaming black blood.

He looked up.

Gabriel stood there, his blade embedded in the Hound's flesh. He was breathing hard, blood lining the side of his face from a blow, and he yanked his blade free, stepping forward and hauling Sam to his feet.

"Where's Dean?"

Sam swallowed, shaking his head, and took a breath. "They have him. Meg took him." He made a rough, hateful sound. "I didn't even…I'm so sorry, Gabriel – I don't know -."

"Shh, it's okay." The Archangel forced a smile to his face, handing Sam Ruby's hunting knife and a loaded shot gun. "Let's go kill something, and then if we can, we will find your brother. There are too many to go right now. We just have to wait and pray."

"Pray." Sam snorted bitterly. "Right."

 

 

Crowley paused, a perturbed expression on his face when he saw Dean Winchester after he had said 'Yes'. There was no ritualistic flash of light, no surge of power into him – not even a flicker told Crowley that the souls were listening.

No. Instead, Dean's soul became incredibly bright, the light that was centered at the base of his spine spreading out, flaring out…wings – stretching high and glorious behind him. His eyes flashed white.

The surge of Angelic brilliance burst out of Dean – the Hunter cried out in pain as he felt himself consumed by what felt like a sun, had the blasting heat of a dying star. He wanted to fall to the ground, to curl up in pain, to black out – anything – but instead of was terrifyingly aware. Aware of the brush of his skin against his shirt, his clothes – the ache of his thighs and in his head where there seemed to be this high-pitched ringing. He was aware of two dark, incredibly dark, auras – he wanted to destroy them. He didn't like them – didn't want their darkness tainting his presence.

Angel Grace flowed through Dean, terrifying and beautiful, and swept through the room. Crowley and Meg both vanished with a scream, consumed by the power of the Angel inside of Dean – the demons holding what once had been Castiel in place also shriveled and died when confronted with the Angel's power. The souls of Purgatory, with their native home calling and no other host to go into, flared inside of what once had been Castiel's body, and the fire branched out towards him, wrapping him tight and he screamed, before the door abruptly shut, the souls gone, and the empty meat suit slumped to the floor.

Dean tried to yell out again, confused, afraid of what was happening to him. It felt like he was hugging a meteor. But in a glorious kind of way. The kind of heat that came from the California sun in the middle of July and the power in a thunderstorm felt like it was raging inside of him. He cried out again.

But he didn't. His body made no sound – was motionless. Dean came to realize this when he realized he couldn't hear a single thing.

Just dead silence.

"Dean."

That was his voice. His voice saying his name but it wasn't his voice at the same time – it was something else. Something other. Familiar and comforting and agonizing all at once.

Castiel?

He felt his own body slump with relief, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he raised his hands to his face – or rather, something did it for him – and wiped them over his tired eyes. "Dean. Thank the Father you're okay."

Cas? The moniker slipped easily and Dean chose to ignore the stab of emotion that he wasn't sure was his own. What happened? Is the baby okay? Jacob? What's -?

"You gave me your consent," Castiel whispered in Dean's voice, awed, his eyes wide as he looked around the room; the dirty, bare place with only a desk, piles of books, and the sigil painted on the wall. His old meat suit lay next to his abandoned blade, empty and dead, a few feet away from them, eyes open and unblinkingly focused on the wall. "You said 'Yes' to me."

Dean didn't answer.

"I could hear you. Every time you called my name, whether it was for me or…that thing that I became. And I wanted to reach for you. So badly. Every time."

Why didn't you? Dean demanded – remembered the long hours he had spent praying, hoping, just wishing that Castiel would reappear, be his Cas again and not the twisted, evil thing that was wearing his face. You just had to wait until the very last minute, didn't you?

"Dean." Castiel smiled with Dean's face, shaking his head as he gently shifted his weight, laying back down on his side. "You would have never consented to me until you were desperate. We both know that."

Guess it doesn't mean the same unless I'm kneeling, huh?

The bitter edge of the Hunter's voice pained Castiel, sent a deep shot of violet-yellow sorrow right into the center of his Grace. "Dean," he said.

I wouldn't have even believed I could be your meat suit.

"The strongest vessel for the strongest Archangel ever to exist." Castiel sighed, his voice still low and full of awe. Dean felt the weight of wings on his back – strange, heavy things, curling up high behind him. But they felt natural, too, like just another thing that was a part of him. "You feel glorious."

What are you doing? Dean asked, feeling around inside of his own head, the walls of Castiel's presence. He felt like he was being enveloped in a hot water bottle covered in fur – thick, soft, almost rubbery as it could stretch and give at Dean's command.

Castiel chuckled – his voice sounded raw, ragged, like he had been gargling gravel and then strangled. "The child is coming. You are not feeling the pain because I am present."

I don't want you staying inside me, Cas, Dean warned, already feeling uncomfortable, knowing that, really, Castiel could just take control of his meat suit and Dean wouldn't be able to fight back, would be stuck with Castiel until God knew when. The idea was frightening and made him want to fight.

"Dean." Castiel sighed, brow furrowing as he closed his eyes. Dean panicked as it went dark, until he felt the warm blanket of Castiel's feathers soothing over him, his wings very real to the Angelic senses. "I would never."

Dean fell silent, and Castiel either didn't hear, or chose to ignore the silent, accusing 'You have'.

 

They were worn out and exhausted. Death strolled among them, unseen except by the few powerful enough to see him, touching the faces of the fallen as he passed. There were hundreds – wolves and demons alike. Sam, Bobby and Gabriel fought on, the Hunters sending out mass amounts of salt rounds and grenades packed around with salt and iron nails – Jo and Ellen's deaths echoed in their minds, haunting, too familiar.

Gabriel fought like the warrior he used to be, his wings and blade shining with Grace as he lay demons to waste around him. They came at him in a throng, teeth gnashing, hissing, spitting at him and he fought, grimacing, as they drove him back. He was an Archangel, it was true, but even he could not handle the sheer mass of numbers. There was a reason Angels worked in teams when they were sent to fight.

They fell back to the house, the wolves still fighting bravely on – they had an army. Enough to give a good stand against the demons. Their claws seemed to be made of iron, salt lining their mouths, as they somehow could tear through demons as easily as human flesh. Without working meat suits the demons were forced to retreat, off to reclaim another. It gave them a brief delay.

Gabriel gasped, falling to one knee when he felt the surge of power. The demons felt it too – they paused, trembling, tense, at the feeling of their King, their leader, being wiped from the world. Though the demons did not have the same base link that Angels shared, they knew enough of power to sense when it was gone.

The souls. They were not on this Earth anymore.

And neither was Crowley.

Of course, the mortals could not sense it, but Gabriel looked to Aaron in question.

The werewolf nodded his great head grimly – his muzzle was slick with blood, a nasty gash on his side bleeding profusely also, leaking down his hindleg. He is alive. The Alpha lives.

"Well," Gabriel murmured, twisting his blade. "At least there's that."

They fought for another half hour, by the setting of the sun, until it was pitch black and Sam and Bobby were forced back into the house because they could not see the demons coming for them very well in the darkness.

It was then that Castiel appeared.

He lit the entire mountain with brilliance, shining more brightly than Gabriel had seen any Angel short of Lucifer shine – demons screamed and wailed when he appeared, more wings than he should have spreading out behind him and sweeping them back, like the floods used to wipe out the armies of Pharaoh. His fury was all-powerful, his strength absolute, and it took Gabriel a moment to realize why.

He was inside the Michael Sword.

"Dean." Sam recognized him at the same time Gabriel did, his eyes wide and disbelieving. Surely it was only the familiarity of his brother's soul that kept his eyes from being burnt out, because Bobby could not look upon Castiel without shielding his eyes. The Angel snarled, Dean's face contorted into a mask of rage, and the Angel – Archangel? God? – swung again, driving back the horde as the demons tried to converge on them.

"Get back!" he yelled, voice ringing with power. "Your King is dead. There is no victory for you here. Get back!"

The demon yowled and wailed again, screaming as they were either burned by Angelic fire, or fled their meat suits and flew away. Gabriel ran out of the house to join his brother, to help him, his own eyes flashing with white Grace as he wiped out the demon stain. The wolves flanked the two Angels until the last demon fled, their black smoke no longer tingeing the air. They could see the tiny sliver of the moon, as it was finishing its eclipse. More and more of it was being revealed as the eclipse ended. Gabriel felt the entire Earth tremble and sigh with relief.

"Gabriel."

The Archangel turned at the sound of his name, spoken in Dean's voice but not Dean's mind behind it. He could see the flare of his little brother inside of the Hunter, smiled despite himself, tears welling up in his eyes.

"You stupid son of a -."

"I must go," Castiel said, reaching forward and lightly stroking his hand down Gabriel's cheek. The Archangel could feel Castiel's Grace reach for him, fingers trembling on his outstretched hand, and he took Castiel's – Dean's – arm, pulling him in and resting their foreheads together.

"I'll take care of things," he whispered, and Castiel smiled, a relieved curve of his lips, flashing white teeth. Dark green eyes flared with Heavenly light and, for a split second, all seemed well. "Go, Castiel."

The Angel nodded, and Dean disappeared as Castiel winged away. Sam and Bobby came running out, panting, Sam's face holding a question that Gabriel didn't give him time to voice;

"He will return," the Archangel said with certainty, elation running through him – they'd survived. They'd…well, perhaps not won, but there had been a victory on this day. And Dean seemed…alright. There were a lot of questions that needed answering. But first; "Let us bury our dead. It is only right. Things will look clearer in the morning, I'm sure."

Bobby grunted, turning around and beginning to walk back to the house. Sam walked beside Gabriel. "Our prayers were answered, Sammy," he said, voice low and full of awe.

Sam smiled bitterly, wiping his forearm across his eyes, and said nothing in reply.

 

Jacob?

"He is here." Castiel knelt down, closing his eyes as he worked to repair another rift in Dean's body – the birth had not been easy on the Hunter. If he had been himself, fully able to experience the pain, it would have torn him apart. Castiel would not have been able to forgive himself for that, was glad that he could shield Dean, at least in that respect.

Strong, gentle hands reached down, picking up the small wriggling babe, and he held it close to his chest, affection and adoration curling around his Grace like red smoke. The baby blinked up at him, bright blue eyes gazing into his face. Dean could see, through Castiel's senses, the silver-grey curl of the werewolf soul inside of the body.

A werewolf.

God.

He's…Dean trailed off, unable to find the words he wanted to say to express the swell of emotion inside of him. Castiel, too, felt the wave of affection and love pouring between them, although it seemed reluctant on Dean's part.

"He will be a glorious child," Castiel whispered.

He's a monster, Cas, Dean replied, sounding like he was close to tears. What if he's evil? What if he…hurts someone?

"He won't if he is raised right," Castiel said, cradling the baby close when it started to wriggle, soft burbling sounds coming out around its – his – fist when he stuck it in his mouth and began to suck softly, feet kicking. Castiel found himself smiling and knew it was because Dean was smiling. His vision was blurring a little. "Dean…" He sighed, petting over his son's cheek as the baby's lashes fluttered, closing as he began to drift into sleep. "I don't regret this child, you know. I just…"

You know, Dean said, before Castiel could continue, and the Angel fell silent, I had a lot of time to think about what happened. I get that you just wanted to stop Raphael. And I…I don't wanna think about what would've happened if he'd gotten his hands on the souls. Castiel nodded, pressing his lips together. But you did some shit, man…you killed Angels.

"So have you," Castiel replied. "My brethren. And I have been responsible for many of their deaths long before I ingested the souls." A pause, and Castiel closed his eyes, sighing softly. "I raped you," he murmured.

The Hunter paused, before he said, very slowly and deliberately; We don't need to get into that. I wanted it.

Castiel closed his eyes, curling his fingers more tightly around his son. Never before had Castiel felt the urge to cry this strongly – Dean's words hurt more than his outright rejection and anger would have. "No, you didn't," he replied, shaking his head. He stood up again, setting his son back down in the makeshift bed he had managed to pile together out of old clothes and blankets and a pillow or two. It would suffice until Castiel returned to Sam, Bobby and Gabriel and the wolves. "I made you. I twisted and tortured you until you gave in. I…I did what I swore I would never do to you – never try and use my Grace to sway your mind but I did."

Cas. Dean's voice was low, pained. That was them. Not you. You…could never do that to me.

Castiel snarled. "I could. I have." He paused in his pacing, looking down at himself. Dean's body had returned to the physical state it had been in before Castiel had impregnated him – his stomach was toned and flat now, his arms and legs still muscled and strong. He held his hands in front of him, rubbing his hands together slowly and letting himself feel the slide of gun calluses and rough palms against each other. "Before this, I had never really known pleasures of the flesh, Dean. Never knew how it felt to want – carnally. Viscerally. Never knew the first slide into another body, how it felt to be inside of someone in a way that was not a vessel. Dean." He turned around, as though expecting Dean to be behind him, forgetting that he was inside of Dean. "I have wanted, and known now, and even when they are gone – when I no longer have them gnawing and eating at me, begging and pleading for you – I still want."

Dean paused again, and Castiel could feel the soul trembling in fear. He hated that – hated that Dean was afraid of him, possibly hated and loathed him. He ached with the urge to wrap his Grace and wings around the soul, to shelter it and keep it innocent as he once had, pulling Dean from the darkest Pit of Hell.

That doesn't matter, Dean finally said, and Castiel closed his eyes, swallowing. You got…you got a whole bunch of other shit to deal with right now, Cas. I mean…there's Heaven and the demons have no leader now and…

Finally, the Angel broke. He made a choked-off sound, pressing his hand against his mouth and clenched his eyes tightly shut, falling down to his knees and dropping his shoulders, kneeling like a broken man on the ground.

"Now…" Castiel whispers, trembling, his voice cracking. "Now you worry about Heaven. Now you worry about me."

I never stopped worrying about you, Dean snapped defensively, earning another short, bitter laugh. And what could I have possibly done to help with Heaven? Unless you count dyin'.

Castiel swallowed – the ache was building up in his chest, lodging in his throat. It was such a strange sensation, to fight hard not to cry.

Cas, I'm so sorry. But I think I understand now.

The first tears fell, then, as Castiel bent his head and wept. It was the only sound in the otherwise silent room, the Angel choking on his tears as they stung at his eyes, ached in his chest – felt like they were being ripped from his very Grace as he cried, icy trails of tears falling down his face and to the ground. He could feel Dean, the Hunter crawling closer and wrapping his soul around him tightly, holding on like he had seen Dean do for Sam. He cried for a very long time, he knew not how long, but by the end he was sore, his throat hurt and rasped when he tried to speak and swallow. With a wave of his hand it was like he had never lapsed, but the feeling was still there, inside of him, resting next to his heart.

Finally, when it was done, he wrapped his Grace tight around Dean and rose to his feet. "You are an infuriating creature, Dean Winchester," he whispered. "I will leave your body now, Dean. As you said, I have many things to do in Heaven."

Sure, Cas, anything you need.

Castiel paused, licking his lips, and then crossed the room to where his empty meat suit lay. He shoved the body over, looking down at the open mouth and blank, staring eyes. "Dean," he whispered.

Yeah, Cas?

"If I come back, will you let me in?"

He could hear Dean shrug. Might stab and shoot at you a few times. But what's that to an Angel?

Castiel laughed, shaking his head, and leaning down to press his mouth to his old vessel's. He felt an odd sense of loss as he uncurled from Dean's soul and poured back into the familiar, empty meat suit.

Just like old times, huh, Cas?

The Angel smiled, closed his eyes, and immersed himself inside of Jimmy's body. There was more room without the soul, but nothing would compare to being inside of the Michael Sword – he knew that now, knew it as sure as anything else. He blinked open eyes the color of the ocean, found Dean looking down at him, their faces inches apart as the Hunter became used to being in control of his own body again. Dean blinked and Castiel held his breath, slowly reaching up to touch his fingertips to Dean's face. He waited for the Hunter to flinch, expecting it as surely as the sunrise, and Dean tensed a little, eyes dropping from his gaze.

Castiel sighed and sat up, getting to his feet. "I will be back," he said. "Sam and Bobby and Gabriel are waiting for you." Before Dean could say anything, Castiel pressed two fingers to his forehead, whisking Dean and Jacob back to the wolves. He then flew to Heaven – the sooner he dealt with the frightened masses, the better.

 

Dean appeared with his son in his hands on the front porch of the house. There were bodies lined up in front, both of wolf and man – demon vessels, he assumed – on top of a large pyre. Dean saw Sam going up and down the rows, spreading salt along the bodies and pouring gasoline on them.

Bobby spotted him first. "Thank God," he said, before he dropped his can of lighter fluid and ran up towards Dean, embracing him tightly. Dean jolted, wincing – he felt like he had a burn on the inside of his mouth and he couldn't speak. Instead, his arms curled protectively around the small child he was carrying, and he ducked his head to rest his forehead against Bobby's shoulder.

"Dean!" Soon Sam was in on the hug as well and Dean breathed in the scent of home that lingered on Sam's clothes. He wriggled an arm free to grasp Sam and Bobby tightly, his shoulders shaking – the shock of what was happening had been held at bay by Castiel's presence, but with it gone his body felt like it was shutting down. He was trembling.

"Shit. Let's get him inside."

"No!" Dean growled, pushing himself away. His throat felt like it was on fire and, despite his vehemence, there was no volume to his voice. "No…I need to…" He turned around, stumbling down the steps and towards where he spotted Leah, standing at one end of the wolf line. She looked up when he approached, tears staining her cheeks. "Is Aaron…?"

She shook her head, gesturing down to where the bodies ended. "He succumbed," she whispered, wiping her eyes with her hands. "His blood loss was too great. But his end was peaceful. He felt the Alpha being born and died with a smile."

Dean nodded, reaching a hand out to rest on her shoulder. It seemed strange, now, without the compulsion to protect her as though she was his own child. He squeezed gently and she smiled a little, her eyes wandering down to the small child cradled in Dean's arms. "Is this the Alpha?" she asked, and reached her arms out to hold him. Dean smiled and handed Jacob over, the baby kicking out, his closed fists flailing around before he settled in her arms. "He's a beautiful child," she cooed, bouncing him gently until he settled further, eyes closing again – a peaceful sleeper.

"Dean." The Hunter turned around, found Sam and Bobby watching him. "What happened?"

"I…" He laughed, running a hand through his hair as he shook his head. "Well, Crowley and Meg're zapped. Souls gone. Cas is…Well, he's back. Kind of."

"We saw you," Bobby said, voice tense. "He possessed ya."

"Yeah."

"You gave him permission?" Sam asked, incredulous.

"It was that or die," Dean replied, shrugging one shoulder. "You should'a heard him, Sammy. And I believed him. I was just…" He took a deep breath, swallowing. "It was the only choice and, I mean. So far so good, right?"

Sam nodded. "A lot of people died today," he whispered.

Dean closed his eyes – he knew. The wolves' death would weigh on him for a very long time – even if they were 'monsters', they had only treated him with kindness and love. They were not evil in themselves, just…instinctual. He couldn't blame them for that.

"It's over now, hopefully," Bobby said, cutting through the silence. "And at least we're still kickin'. Now help me light the fire, boys – they ain't gonna burn themselves and we got enough to be seen from space."

"Yeah," Dean replied. "Leah, can you…?"

"I'll take care of him," the she-wolf replied, smiling slightly, and took Jacob into the house.

"Dean, you shouldn't strain yourself," Sam said as Dean took up a can of lighter fluid and a shovel, starting to dig a trench to bury the ashes in. Dean paused for a moment, before he straightened, looking Sam in the eye.

"Sam," he said, very slowly and in a measured tone. "Not that I don't appreciate where the sentiment is coming from or anything, 'cause I do, but for the past few days I have been able to do absolutely nothing but literally sit on my ass and wait to get fucked." Sam flinched, guilt flashing in his eyes, and Dean paused again, softening his tone. "I want to do something. So just…let me."

Sam swallowed, sighing and hanging his head. Sweat, dirt and blood matted his hair, making it stick together on the side of his face. "Did they get you?" Dean asked in concern, leaning closer to try and see if Sam had a wound anywhere.

"Not mine," he replied with a smile. "Go on. I'll help Bobby salt the rest of the bodies."

"Hey!" Dean called, and Sam turned around. "Where's Gabriel?"

Sam frowned, shrugging. "Haven't seen him since, well, since you showed up all Cas-ed up and wiped the place."

"Huh." Dean shrugged, and went back to digging his ditch.

 

"Castiel." The Angel turned in place, cool blue eyes regarding the group of Angels that had materialized at his presence. He folded his wings, kept them low in surrender, a gesture of peace. The Angels – Seraphs, mostly, those of his old rank – had their blades out, fear and determination shining in their Grace and eyes.

The leader stepped forward. "Castiel. You have done great evil to us. Sworn yourself by the Father's name. You must be punished for it."

"Brothers," Castiel replied, his feathers bristling a little in fear as he watched the light glint off their blades – he knew of Angel punishment, had felt it at his brothers' hands and did not wish for a repeat. But he would bear it if that was what was decided. "I have greatly wronged you. I come here to repent."

In a blink the Angels had him surrounded on all sides. A fine tremor of fear ran through Castiel's Grace. "Ah, young one," the lead Angel – Castiel did not know his name offhand – said, sighing and shaking his head. Something like true remorse shone in his Grace but was gone just as quickly as it had come. "You have greatly sinned. In ways only the Betrayer ever has."

"If you cast me out," Castiel whispered, shaking but forcing himself to appear calm, resigned, "then I will take that punishment gladly. I only ask that I be allowed to live on the Earth and not below it."

"Perhaps a greater punishment," one of the other Angels said, earning a flash of amusement from the group.

The lead Angel stepped forward, tilting Castiel's chin up with the tip of his blade. "I know why you ask this," he said, cocking his head to one side, meeting Castiel's eyes with a stoic brown-golden gaze. "It is a small mercy, but perhaps one that will bring you even more pain. What say you to that?"

"I am not fit for Heaven," Castiel replied, changing the subject and jerking his head away from the Angel's blade. He hissed his next words; "Do with me what you will."

"Very well."

"Brethren, stop!"

The blow that had been aimed for Castiel's heart, to strike him down for Earth or worse, stopped a fraction of an inch from piercing the Angel's Grace. Castiel froze, knowing the voice, wide eyes turning to gaze upon the brother he had never seen in Heaven.

Gabriel stepped forward, shining with pure Grace unhindered by the visage of a human. He was glorious, his multitude of wings spreading out far, touching all the places on the Earth below, and higher up in the sky where the Seraphiel adorned their Father's possibly empty throne. His face, if he had such a thing as a face, was smiling, glowing with praise and might and the utter absolute that was God's power.

"Gabriel," Castiel gasped, falling to his knees in front of the Archangel – the last Archangel to stand in Heaven. The Archangel stepped closer, threads of Grace gleaming on the ground as he walked, and Castiel leaned against him, resting his cheek against his brother's 'hand'. "Gabriel. Forgive me."

"Archangel," the lead Seraph whispered, his voice low and awed, shining in a reflection of the powerful Archangel's Grace. "You have returned."

"Yes," Gabriel replied, voice low and solemn in a way that Castiel had never heard it before. "What were you doing here?"

"I have sinned," Castiel said, looking up into the eyes of his brother. "I deserve punishment."

Gabriel cocked his head to one side. "Sinned?" he asked, brushing his 'thumb' underneath Castiel's eyes. The burn of God's power made the Angel shiver, wings ducking low. "You have brought one of the greatest in Hell to nothing. You saved the world – again. You have managed to preserve the safety of the Righteous Man, his brother and his mentor, which was your original task, and you have eradicated the one who threatened our peace in Heaven." He smiled when Castiel's eyes flared open, disbelieving. "I do not call that a sin."

"The ends do not justify the means here, Gabriel," Castiel said, his voice almost a hiss.

"You have asked for forgiveness. Clearly you repent." Gabriel knelt down, taking Castiel's face in his hands, and placed a gentle kiss of benediction on the Angel's forehead. "I grant you that forgiveness, by our Father's command. It is yours to take. I could not punish you as much as you will punish yourself. Or Dean."

The mention of Dean's name brought a small, sardonic smile to Castiel's mouth. He looked at his older brother with adoration and relief. "Thank you."

Gabriel smiled, and then straightened. "Now, can we please get onto the good part?" he asked, his Grace compressing and morphing until he stood in human likeness, arms spread out in a gesture of welcome towards the Angels. "I'm pretty sure Cas will stay down on Earth more often than not, so I'm perfectly willing to fill in as the Boss-man until Dad gets home. Seems I'm the only one with a bit of sense around here."

Castiel blinked. "But you left Heaven for a reason."

"The reason I left Heaven," Gabriel said, looking back to Castiel, "is gone. Buried. You tried to start something new and, well, I'm gonna finish it. You are always welcome here, Castiel. But I know where you would rather be."

The Angel nodded, pressing his lips together – he could not deny it, and he did not want to. Being at the Winchesters' and Bobby Singer's side would make him happy, even with their annoying traits and incredibly stubborn ways. And with Heaven in the care of someone he trusted, Castiel felt a lot better about spending more time with them.

If he was welcome.

"I should go to him," the Angel said, and Gabriel nodded, smiling a little.

"Tell Sam I said 'Hey'."

"I shall," Castiel replied solemnly, dipping his head to the new leader of Heaven, before winging away.

 

 

The fire was climbing high, smoke joining with the night air and drifting away, marring the image of the moon and the stars. Dean, Sam, Bobby and Leah were inside the house, the rest of the wolves sleeping in the caves in the mountain.

Dean looked down at the slumbering child in his lap, a small smile on his face despite himself. The kid was the spitting image of a chubbier Castiel. Of course he was – hell, for a while he had been the guy. He sighed, running his fingers across the fine tuft of blond-ish hair on his head. Would probably darken like Dean's had to a brown.

The Hunter forced himself not to think of what kind of wolf he would grow up to be. What he would look like. If Dean would ever be around to see that.

There was a light flutter of wings and Dean looked up at the same time as the other occupants. Castiel was standing in the doorway, looking the same as ever. Infuriatingly the same, actually. "Hello, Dean," he said, and Dean pressed his lips together and nodded at him, and the Angel looked down, shifting uncomfortably. His eyes flashed to Sam.

"How are you?" he asked, cocking his head to one side.

Sam frowned. "Fine."

Castiel's expression cleared. "Good. The wall is holding," he said, nodding to himself like that was the final thing he had to check. Dean looked down, breathing out a huge sigh – he hadn't even thought about Sam's wall. God. His head was just so messed up.

"Leah," he said, looking up at the she-wolf. "I want you to take him."

She frowned at him. "Take who?"

No longer 'Alpha'. Figures. He coughed, clearing his throat, eyes flashing very quickly to Castiel before he gently bobbed his knee, where the child was resting in his arms. "I can't hunt and have a kid," he said before anyone could protest. "And I think he'd end up slightly less screwed up around, you know, people like him."

"Werewolves, Dean, you're allowed to say it," Bobby muttered dryly, shrugging when Dean shot him a death glare.

"Point is," he said, "I don't. And can't have him. So you should take him. He'd do better with you." He stood up, holding the child out to her and she swallowed, eyes flashing to Castiel for a moment. "Don't look at him, look at me." She did. "Just take him!"

Quietly she took Jacob from his arms and he blew out a breath, taking a step back.

"Dean."

He couldn't look at Castiel, or any of them – he left the room, and went upstairs to his own bedroom, shutting the door behind him although he knew it would do jack squat against –

There he was.

Dean turned around when he heard the tell-tale flutter of wings. Like soft, thick feathers now, and not the metallic 'sching' he had become so used to. "I'm not keeping it," he whispered, eyes flashing. "I can't. I don't want it."

Castiel's eyes were liquid and warm when he took a step closer, like his very soul – Grace – was being bared, and he reached for Dean, but the Hunter flinched away. "Don't touch me."

"Dean -."

"Say something else!" Dean growled, whirling on Castiel. His vision was getting blurry and he wasn't sure why – he wiped at his eyes and found them wet. The sting of salt was heavy in the air. "Get angry, do something. Where did you go, huh? Where were you?"

"I was in Heaven," Castiel replied, pressing his lips together and looking down. "I had gone to repent in front of my brothers and to accept my punishment for my sins."

That pulled Dean up short. "You went to go let them just beat the crap outta you?" he asked incredulously, almost accusingly. Castiel nodded and Dean made a bitter, hateful sound. "Stupid son of a bitch. They could have killed you."

"Gabriel saved me. He has taken my position in Heaven." Castiel paused, taking a breath. "I imagine he will do the job a lot better than I did."

"So…what, you're not an Angel anymore?" Dean asked.

"Don't be absurd. I've always been an Angel."

"Right. Sorry. It's hard to tell when I'm standing straight."

"Dean." In a moment Castiel was across the room, standing too close to Dean like usual. One of his hands cupped the Hunter's cheek and Dean found himself unable to move – though whether that was because he couldn't or because he didn't want to was open to debate. The Angel's eyes were sincere, his voice heavy and pained; "You will never be able to understand how much I regret treating you like that, manipulating you and…forcing you. The only thing I do not regret about this whole ordeal is the return of my brother and the destruction of my enemy. And my child. But you do not want him."

"I can't raise a monster, Cas," Dean replied, voice raspy.

"And who would call him a monster?" Castiel demanded sharply, backing away. Feathers rustled in the air and the Angel growled in frustration. "You have called your brother a monster – you have called me a monster. I would think by the third time you would learn that 'creature' and 'evil' are not the same things!" He let out a short, sharp breath. "You are incredible, Dean Winchester, but sometimes I just want to smite you."

"I'm trying," Dean hissed, taking a step forward. "I'm trying to get it. I understood why you had to do it – really. I really do. Raphael would have been ten tones of bad mojo comin' down on us if you hadn't gotten the souls first. I get that.

But why everything else? The children, the armies? Trapping us – forcing me and threatening Sam when I tried to fight back…You took away everything that I was. Made me something I never wanted to be and now, what? What am I supposed to do?"

For a long moment, there was silence, Dean and Castiel staring at each other across the few feet and the miles that seemed to separate them. Before – before all of this, before everything changed between them – Castiel would not have hesitated to reach for Dean and comfort him. But now. Everything was different. Everything had changed.

"Fuck," Dean whispered, deflating as he sat down on his bed, still wrinkled from where he had been laying down when the birth had started, "do you even care?"

In a blink of an eye Castiel was there, in front of Dean, and when the Hunter looked up to meet his eyes, Castiel slowly sank to his knees between Dean's legs, his hands resting gently on the Hunter's knees. The position was familiar, achingly so, and Dean closed his eyes, taking a deep breath when Castiel reached for him, gently touching the scar still lingering on Dean's neck from the vampire bite.

"Never doubt my devotion to you," Castiel whispered, ducking his head to look Dean in the eye when the Hunter's eyes reopened. "The souls lowered my inhibitions, perhaps, and made me more into a creature of instinct that I would have been otherwise, but the emotion behind it, the want – Dean, you – were always behind it. You still are."

"I know," Dean replied, shaking his head and forcing Castiel to release his hold on him. "That's what scares me, Cas. I mean…fuck, it hurt the first time. What happens if…?"

"You think I would betray you again? You think any of this would happen again? No." Castiel gripped Dean's face, forcing him to meet his gaze again. "Dean Winchester, I swear my love and fealty to you. I swear that you will never need to fear me like that again – that I will protect you, and Sam, and Bobby until you have all passed on and I can be with you in the Heavens."

"You shouldn't have to do that," Dean whispered, shaking his head. "Don't do that."

"Why not?"

"I don't want you to swear anything to me!" he snapped, moving to rise but Castiel would not budge, so he sat back down. "No deals, no plots, no nothing. Just…" He paused, leaning forward, placing his hands on Castiel's shoulders. "Just you. And me. Sam, Bobby, Gabriel. Just…let's just kind of be for a while and see what happens."

It was selfish and Dean knew that – knew how Castiel felt about him now and still asking him to stick around with no real promise of 'It gets better'.

Castiel blinked at him, brow furrowing slightly as he tried to work out the puzzle that was Dean Winchester. "Do you love me, Dean?" he whispered after a very long moment.

The Hunter sighed, closing his eyes, and rested their foreheads together. His hands slid from Castiel's shoulders to his neck, thumbs brushing along his jaw. He opened his eyes again.

"Yeah, Cas. Pretty sure I do."

After all, no one who he didn't love would be able to get under his skin so easily.

 

They did still leave Jacob with Leah and the wolves – it was better for him, Dean was convinced, to be raised with his own kind. And Leah had said the wolves were going to start fresh – move further north, to the rainy country. There was a pack up there willing to take them in, it was said. And Dean was satisfied with that. He knew he would be able to visit the child any time and Castiel had promised to stick around and make sure Jacob was okay.

It was best for everyone involved. And if Dean had to take a few deep breaths before letting his son go, well, that was his business and everyone else could quietly shut up. He had the Impala rumbling underneath him, Sam in shotgun, and Castiel and Bobby in the back seat. He had a feeling that Gabriel might be perched on the roof for shits and giggles too, but he wasn't gonna stop the car and find out.

After a few hundred miles where Dean was driving pretty much anywhere, Sam turned to him. "How's Hell central up there?" Dean asked before he could say anything.

Sam sighed. "It's good," he replied. "Really good. I'm not getting flashbacks or anything and…yeah. It's good."

"Good."

There was another long pause. "Dean, you know you're gonna have to face up to this…thing…eventually. Cas did some shit and -."

"I know," he replied, eyes flashing to the rear view mirror. Castiel appeared to be in a kind of 'lights on no one's home' kind of trance, but Dean wasn't sure he wasn't listening. Either way, it didn't really matter to him. "But I don't know, man. He did kind of save the world for us, too."

"…In that roundabout way…"

He looked to Castiel's reflection again and bit his lip, licking them again. Deserts were too damn dry. "Have faith in him, Sammy. He deserves it by now. He was gonna go to Heaven to get his ass whooped 'cause he was so guilty. And, I mean, I can relate to that kinda self-beatin'." He paused, tilting his head to one side. "You didn't feel 'im, Sammy. He was…" He closed his eyes for a brief moment, breathing deep. "Did Lucifer feel like that?"

Sam frowned, shaking his head. "Probably not."

"…Shame." Dean turned his face away, checking the rear view mirror before switching lanes, kicking his Baby up another gear. "Point is, he's not goin' anywhere and I don't want him to. We could always use an Angel on hunts – he's saved our ass more than once."

Sam smirked slightly, shaking his head and returned to staring out the window. "You got it bad, Dean."

"What?"

"Nothin'. I'm happy for you." And Sam just continued to smile and shake his head despite Dean's demands that he explain. Eventually Dean subsided and, as payback, turned up Led Zeppelin to an almost deafening volume. Sam winced and turned over, pretending to go to sleep, and when Dean looked in the rear view mirror again, he could see Castiel smiling.


End file.
